


Blood & Water

by Moon_Disc



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-06-02 23:38:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19451845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moon_Disc/pseuds/Moon_Disc
Summary: A surprising discovery leads to a revelation about the crew of the Liberator. Was it fate that brought them together or is there something more sinister afoot?





	1. Chapter One

“Tyridian plague.”

It had started with complaints of a headache. Then fever and a grating cough. Ten hours later, and Vila had been insensible. After that, his condition had deteriorated rapidly and when fluid had started gathering in his pleural cavity, his breathing had to be assisted. The _Liberator’s_ medical unit could only keep him stable. Finding outside intervention had become a priority. 

A medical facility on the neutral planet of Vanguard in Sector Three had offered to help. Except, now they had the diagnosis, even with the best that the _Liberator_ and the facility had to offer, there was nothing they could do. Tyridian plague, a manufactured disease developed for biological warfare, had been designed to kill, quickly if not cleanly. Federation scientists had not bothered finding a cure.

“I’m sorry,” said the doctor. “I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear.”

“We understand,” said Gan. “I’m sure you did what you could.”

“We can treat the symptoms,” the man went on. “Of course, it would be different if we had a family member.”

Blake had only been half-listening to the conversation. Standing at Vila’s bedside, he was turning the last twenty hours over his mind, trying to think what they had missed. 

A relatively simple operation to cripple the Federation’s weapon supply, Vila had mounted his usual protestations when he was told his particular skills were needed to infiltrate a development unit on Corstanix. In and out, with an overload in the primary energy systems left to finish what they had started and then back to the ship. An hour later, Vila’s symptoms had started. So far, none of the others had shown any signs of infection. How he had contracted the disease was a puzzle. There had been no reports of an epidemic on the planet. It was a contained unit with its own decontamination protocols in operation. Yet somehow Vila had managed to fall ill.

Tyridian plague killed within forty hours. Vila’s time was running out. 

“What difference would a family member make?” Blake asked absently.

“Gene therapy,” explained the doctor. “The plague causes damage at the cellular level. Put simply, we have had some success in the past by replacing the mutated genes with healthy copies. However, we need an undamaged gene on which to base the copy. A close relative usually provides the best match.”

“Does Vila have any family?” asked Gan.

“None that I know of,” said Blake. 

Truth was, Vila had never said. In the short time Blake had known him, he had formed a decent opinion of his character, but beyond the barest details of what Vila had told him, his background was a mystery. He could have had brothers and sisters by the score, but finding them in time was going to be impossible.

“There must be something,” asked Gan. “We can’t do nothing, Blake.”

The doctor looked uncertain. “It’s a long shot, but it might be worth testing the members of your crew to see if anyone is close enough to be suitable. Any match, however distant, might help.”

A very long shot, thought Blake. But it was worth a try.

“Very well,” he agreed. “Gan, you go first. I’ll tell Avon and Jenna to teleport down.”

The response was predictable.

“Insulting us by implying that we have anything in common with Vila is not going to help him,” came Avon’s voice through the communicator. "The odds that we are a match must be 1 in a trillion."

“Just come down,” said Blake.

“What about Cally?”

“Probably not close enough. Oh, and Avon, make it quick. He’s fading.”

* * * * * * *

“Any news?” asked Jenna.

Blake shook his head. Several hours had passed without word from the medics on Vanguard. The samples had been given and then it was a case of waiting. Gan had remained behind and could only report back that Vila’s condition had worsened and the tests were still progressing. It was not encouraging.

“Too much to hope any of us were a match,” she said. 

“At least we tried,” said Blake. A headache had settled solidly behind his eyes. Pinching the bridge of his nose did little to dispel it. “Did he have any family?”

Jenna gave a light shrug. “He never said. I had the impression he was on his own.”

“There must be someone who should be told.”

“Someone who cares, you mean.”

He returned her slight smile. “Perhaps they already know.”

The communicator suddenly chimed. Jenna held back and let Blake answer it. He tried to give her a reassuring look, but saw from her expression that she was bracing herself for the worst possible news.

“We have a match,” said the medic from Vanguard, much to Blake’s surprise. “We’ll begin the treatment immediately. We are hopeful that he should make a full recovery.” 

Jenna let out an audible sigh of relief.

“That’s encouraging,” said Blake. “Who was the match?”

There was a pause before the medic answered. “Look, I don’t know how to tell you this, since I assume from what you said you aren’t aware of it yourself.”

“Aware of what?”

Again, the man hesitated. “The fact is, you were all suitable matches. It seems you share a common relative, a father most likely. In short, you are all half-siblings.”


	2. Chapter Two

“Impossible.”

Blake had expected resistance. Jenna had said much the same thing. Her reaction was why he had said nothing initially, but had asked the Vanguardians to run their tests again. Over the following hours, the same result kept coming back. And each time, although she denied its possibility, Jenna’s conviction was starting to grow weaker. It was hard to argue in the face of compelling evidence.

And now he was having to break the news to Avon before Gan and Vila came back to the ship.

“Then how do you explain the results?” Blake returned.

“Human error.”

“The tests were run three times.”

“If it’s the same human,” Avon drawled, “then it’s the same error.”

He stepped down from his station and put distance between them. Blake did not follow. He could understand why Avon felt uncomfortable with the idea. Speaking for himself, he had been through the whole gamut of emotional responses since receiving the news. Incredulity, anger, denial and now something approaching cautious acceptance. Avon was a long way from that, if he ever reached it at all.

“Different scientists, different laboratories, same result,” Blake said.

Avon rounded on him. “Oh, come on, Blake! You don’t seriously believe that any of us are related?”

“The thought hadn’t occurred to me before now.”

“Because it’s impossible.”

Blake took his time before replying. Avon was not going to like this. “But it’s not, is it? Impossible, I mean. Unlikely, yes, but not impossible.”

Avon skirted the forward seating and stood close enough to make his presence objectionable. Blake stood his ground.

“Impossible or unlikely,” Avon said, his voice prickling with indignation, “I resent the implication.”

“I’m not happy about it either,” Blake replied.

“Then keep it to yourself.”

Blake stepped around him and out of his immediate vicinity. “Too late. Jenna was here when the results came in, and Gan will have told Vila. How you explain that, by the way? The gene therapy treatment was a success.”

“If it was ever required in the first place,” said Avon.

“You doubt their diagnosis?”

“People lie. It’s usually when their lips are moving.”

Blake turned back to him. “I’d agree.”

“Oh, do you? Well, that is gratifying. That’s one thing we have in common.”

“Except we went to them.” He rubbed his finger across his chin as he gave the thought consideration. “If it’s a trap, it’s a clever one.”

“Or a simple one.” Avon took a seat and eyed him with simmering hostility. “It would take the mind of a fool to concoct something like this and expect us to believe it.”

“For what reason? How does telling us that we are related help the Federation?” Blake shook his head in frustration. “It doesn’t make sense. If anything, you would think it would unite us.”

“Or divide us.”

Blake glanced over at him. “That’s your thought, is it? Leave? I thought you were the one who didn’t like an unsolved mystery.”

“There is no mystery, Blake. It’s a trap. What we need—”

His words were drowned out by the sound of loud voices coming from the corridor. Vila, undeniably the loudest, along with Gan and Cally. Avon anticipated what was coming and tried to make a quick exit. Not fast enough, the trio were upon them before he had made it up the stairs.

“Ah, there they are,” said Vila when he saw them. “One big happy family.”

“Avon, wait,” called Blake.

He stopped, resentfully retraced his steps to his station and busied himself with making minor adjustments.

“Vila, you’re looking better,” said Blake. “Fully recovered?”

He nodded. The change was remarkable. The colour was back in his cheeks and his breathing was back to normal. It was as though the last few hours had never happened. “Oh, yes. They were very good down there, you know. Once they did that genie thingy on me, I was well again in no time. Thanks to my big brother here.” He glanced from Gan to Blake. “They told you?”

Blake nodded. “We’re still trying to make sense of it.”

Vila shrugged dismissively. Coming close to death had done nothing to sober his demeanour, Blake noted. “Makes perfect sense to me,” said Vila. “You hear about these long-lost twins separated at birth finding each other after years and years apart. How are we any different?”

“Because we aren’t twins,” said Jenna as she entered the flight deck. “Welcome back, Vila.”

“Good to be back,” he replied. “I thought my last hour had come.”

“Keep talking,” Avon muttered. “It might yet happen.”

Jenna came to rest beside him. “You don’t believe it either?”

“What’s not to believe?” said Vila. He went over to join them, deliberately ignoring the look of scorn Avon was giving him. “I’d have thought all that science stuff would have appealed to you, Avon. ‘Scientifically proven’, that’s what they say. Can’t argue with that.”

“Show me a scientist who claims they have never been wrong and I’ll show you a fool,” Avon stated. “The science may be sound, but as long as there is a human element, there will be errors.”

“I’m not an error,” Vila protested. 

“That’s debatable.”

“There was a time if you’d said something like that,” Vila said, taking the liberty of draping his arm casually around Avon’s shoulders, “I’d have been offended. But now I know we’re family, it doesn’t bother me.”

Avon looked both mortified and irritated in turn. “Vila, do you have any use for your arm?”

He grinned back at him. “You might say I’m attached to it.”

“Then move it.” Avon pushed him out of the way and came down to face Blake, hands on his hips. “How much longer do we have to go along with this farce?”

“I don’t see that it matters,” said Gan indifferently.

“You don’t find it curious that five people who happen to be related ended up on the same ship?” said Blake.

“It means we can help each other.” Gan, as pragmatic as ever, thought Blake. “We were able to help Vila.”

“And very grateful I am too.” Vila sidled over, certainty making him overconfident. He nudged Avon in the ribs. “If you ever need a kidney, let me know. I’ve got one to spare. I wouldn’t do it for everyone, but seeing how you’re family...”

“I’m not your brother,” Avon grated. “We have nothing in common.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Vila. “Look at us. Blake and Gan both have curly hair. We all have brown eyes.”

“I don’t,” said Jenna.

“Blake and Gan are tall,” Vila went on blithely. “And Avon and me, we’re...” He saw Avon’s glowering expression and chose his next words carefully. “Tallish. And we’re all criminals.”

“I’m not,” said Blake curtly.

“Anti-establishment tendencies would tend to come under rejection of the law,” Avon remarked. “But apart from a few superficial similarities, I repeat, we have nothing in common.”

“Except the _London_ ,” Vila mused. He looked around at the others when he felt their gazes upon him. “Well, it’s what Blake said. What are the chances of the only five related people on a convict ship ending up on the _Liberator_? The odds must be astronomical.”

“Unless you were not the only five,” said Cally, putting their shared thoughts into words. “What if everyone on the _London_ had the same father?”


	3. Chapter Three

“Come on, Avon, come on!” Blake hissed.

Across the room, Avon was elbow-deep in the guts of the communications console. Jenna, pressed up against him, keeping watch, whilst trying to avoid the cross-hatch of laser fire coming at them from every quarter. From this angle, the bulk of the computer bank was protecting them from the worst of the onslaught. Typical Federation thinking, exterminate the threat without damaging the equipment. Easier to mop up the blood than to replace the technology on the relay station at Cencestris.

“Avon, we need to leave,” he called over to them.

Avon glanced over his shoulder to reply. A secondary weapon registered the movement and changed its angle. He ducked in time as a bolt passed over his head and onwards, hitting a keypad on the wall. It exploded, spending burning fragments flying. Only when the sparks had died down did he raise his head.

“Remind me to tell Blake,” Avon muttered, “that unmanned does not mean unprotected.”

Jenna patted down the back of his smouldering blue jacket. “We can’t stay here much longer.”

“Tapping into the Central Computers takes time,” he replied. “If it was easy, anyone could do it.”

“Anyone whose name was Avon.”

“Even so,” he said, not returning her smile, “if Blake wants the prisoner records from the _London_ , he’s going to have to wait.”

Another volley of laser fire rattled into the ground inches from Jenna’s feet. She pulled in her legs a little closer, aware she was getting in Avon’s way.

“Blake, can’t you do something about that?” she called out to him.

Probably unfair, she thought, given that he was squeezed into a small space with Vila up against the side of a large memory bank. Every now and then, he glanced out, only to dodge back when the tracking weapons mounted in the wall recesses spat an energy charge in his direction.

“I’m trying, Jenna,” he answered.

She watched as he lifted his gun, looked out and took quick aim. An explosion and the clatter of metal onto the floor told of one less weapon to worry about. His second attempt was less successful. The blast dislodged the weapon without disabling it. Swinging wildly, fire raked across the computer console where Jenna was sitting. Seeing it coming, Avon grabbed her and pulled her in front of him, shielding her as the metal buckled where a moment before her head had been. Another blast from Blake and the weapon fell apart.

“Thanks,” Jenna breathed. “That was close.”

Avon released her without a word and went back to work. With the tracking weapons crippled, Vila finally came out of hiding as Blake crawled across through the smoke and scattered debris to the main console.

“Are we done?” he asked.

“ _We_ are,” Avon said. “The download is taking a little longer. You damaging the linkages isn’t helping.”

“Hurry it up,” said Blake. “We’re bound to have set off a number of alarms.” He pressed the button on his communicator. “Gan, come in.”

He frowned when he was met with silence. Trying again had the same result.

“You think they’ve run into trouble up there?” asked Vila nervously.

“More than we have down here,” said Jenna.

“Done,” said Avon suddenly. He drew his arm back and in his hand he held a transparent data cylinder. “Let’s get out of here.”

Blake tried again. “Gan!” An interrupted message came through, skipping every other word. “Repeat!” said Blake. “What’s happening? Gan, answer―”

When he suddenly stopped speaking, Jenna glanced up in time to see his form freeze. The hard white light of the teleport coalesced around both Blake and Vila, and they were gone.

“Have you noticed,” said Avon, “how getting into these places is easier than getting out?”

“Something must have happened to the _Liberator_ ,” Jenna replied.

“Probably something to do with those alarms Blake mentioned.” Avon activated his communicator. “ _Liberator_ , come in.” He was met with silence. “Well, we’ll have to wait.”

A noise from beyond the main door made Jenna look round. A dull thud, like someone hammering on the reinforced metal.

“Yes, I heard,” he said. “Sounds like we’re not alone. Time to leave.”

“Access vent,” Jenna said, gesturing to the slated panel in the corner. “Let’s get out of here.”

The screws sheared off with several blasts from Avon’s gun. The panel fell away, clattering to the floor as the hammering from outside intensified. Jenna went in first, on hands and knees along the polished metal corridor. A left turn brought her up against another panel. Through the gaps, she could make out several pairs of black-clad legs passing by. Mutoids, by the look of it, running to intercept them. 

Jenna gestured to Avon to back up and she crawled backwards until she met the junction. Then straight on, as fast as she could until a flat metal panel barred the way.

“Fire hatch,” Avon said. “There should be a release button in the ceiling.”

Sure enough, flush against the metal, was a flat button. Reaching up, she pushed it and the panel slid back with a reluctant hiss. Too late, she saw coming in the other direction a mutoid.

“Back!” she called to Avon.

She swivelled, with just enough room to bring her legs around and at the same time pressing the button to close the hatch. It snapped shut before she was completely out of the way, closing on her wrist. Struggling, trying to pull herself free was useless. Beyond the panel, the teleport bracelet was holding her fast. 

“Avon, wait!” she yelled. “I’m trapped.”

Even as she said it, she felt a cold hand close around her wrist. The teleport bracelet was snapped free and with a violent jerk, she was dragged through up to her shoulder.

Avon was back at her side, wedged up close against her in the confines of the tunnel. He grabbed her arm, hauled and made no impression. Pushing the button had no effect. Whoever was on the other side had disabled the mechanism. He grabbed the edge of the panel and started to heave. Too hemmed in to get any leverage, the door refused to budge for him.

“Teleport,” he said, breathing heavily from the effort. “Once they bring us up―”

“My bracelet has gone,” she replied. The hand holding her fast from the other side of the door pulled harder. The metal bit into her shoulder, making her gasp.

“Stay still,” Avon said, supporting her shoulder. “Whatever you do, don’t move.”

He took out his weapon, passed his arm under her waist and aimed for the small gap between the wall and the door. A distant cry told that the blast had not been wasted. But the pressure on her wrist was relentless.

“They’re behind the door,” she said. “You won’t get them.” 

“We’ll see. _Liberator_ , where are you?”

Vila’s voice replied, thin, grainy and broken. “Avon, we can’t hear you. Say again.”

He undid his bracelet and spoke into it. “Get a voice lock on my co-ordinates. I’m sending Jenna up first. Then bring a bracelet back for me.”

“What’s that?” said Vila uncertainly. “Bring what for who?”

From somewhere behind them came the sound of someone following, hand over hand on their knees, coming quickly in their direction. Jenna caught Avon’s eye, both understanding the meaning. Both trapped, one physically, the other with nowhere to go. Then, a sudden pain in the back of her hand made her catch her breath.

“What now?” Avon demanded.

“Something... something’s been injected into my hand. Avon, go,” she urged. “I’m not getting out of this.”

An oily mist started to swirl in front of her eyes, as the drug took effect. She was dimly aware of Avon trying to force his bracelet around her free wrist.

“When they bring you up, you’ll be free,” he was saying. “Take the data cylinder. Vila, bring Jenna up. Do it _now_!”

While she still had the strength, she pulled her hand out of his grasp and the open bracelet fell away. Close enough for her fumbling fingers to find it first, she caught Avon’s arm and snapped it back in place around his wrist. She barely had time to register the startled look on his face before the teleport activated and he was gone. As the door panel started to release, the effort of sitting up was too much. She slid down and sideways through the opening and was unconscious before she hit the floor.

* * * * * * *

Vila watched as a single crouched figure appeared in the teleport bay. Standing in front of him, Blake spun round.

“Vila, where’s Jenna?” he demanded.

He started activating the switches randomly in panic. “I don’t know! I thought I had her.”

“Can’t you follow a simple instruction?” Avon barked, hurrying over. “What the hell was happening up here?!”

The floor shook, accompanied by a low rumble, as the ship took the brunt of an interceptor rocket. “We’re under attack,” said Blake. “Pursuit ships. Where’s Jenna?”

“She was trapped in a door. Put me back down!”

“Right,” said Blake. “I’m coming with you.”

He grabbed the table for support as the _Liberator_ suddenly lurched. Missing his handhold, he fell on top of Avon and together they slid across the floor. Vila tumbled from his seat and came rolling after. By the time the ship righted itself, they had ended up in an ungainly heap by the steps. Blake pushed himself up in time to see the locator screen shatter. Then, one by one, the lights died on the teleport console until the final one blinked and failed.

There was no going back. The ship was already moving, Cally and Gan following instructions to execute optimum evasive strategy as soon as the teleport was activated. What should have been a simple mission to gather information from Central Records was ending with Jenna missing. At this rate, there was a good chance the _Liberator_ was not going to make it either.

Beneath him, Avon was struggling to free himself. Blake turned on him.

“Did you leave her?” he demanded.

“I tried to give her my bracelet,” Avon returned with equal vehemence. “There were mutoids down there.”

“Our information―”

“Was incorrect. As _usual_.” Avon pulled the data cylinder from his jacket and slapped it into Blake’s open hand. “I hope this was worth it!”

He untangled himself, pushed himself upright and headed off in the direction of the flight deck. Blake caught Vila staring at him in that wide-eyed, anxious way of his.

“Was it?” he asked. 

There had been no reproach in Vila’s voice. Just a question, Blake thought. But a good one. And only time would tell.


	4. Chapter Four

At Space Command Headquarters, Servalan was listening to the incoming report from Assault Leader One with growing consternation. Considerable damage had been sustained to the relay station, which was to be expected. Had it been too easy, Blake would have been suspicious. The attack on the _Liberator_ had not been anticipated, especially as she had given explicit instructions to the contrary.

“You were told not to interfere,” she said. “Your role was to monitor, nothing more.”

“We did as instructed, Supreme Commander,” said Leader One. “The attack was led by Travis, not us.”

“Travis.” 

She let the name play on her lips. A keen officer and a ruthless one, but unpredictable. Not that it was a bad quality; having someone on your side who never acted quite as expected could be a bonus. But she acknowledged its limitations, as now. His precipitous actions had nearly ruined her plans. Nearly, but not absolutely. There was talk of a prisoner. That too could work in her favour.

“Where is he now?” she asked.

“I understand he was returning to Space Headquarters,” said Leader One.

Returning to show off his handiwork, thought Servalan, expecting to be congratulated on a job well done. On any other day, he would have earned his praise. But this was not any other day.

“Do you want us to continue to monitor?” asked Leader One.

She considered. “No, let them go. We’ll find them when we’re ready.”

The screen blinked into silence. She would have to deal with Travis in such a way that his suspicions were not raised. Careful handling would be needed to ensure he did not turn to bite the hand that fed him.

By the time the message came in that his ship had docked, she was ready. As usual, he came straight in without knocking. It was a conceit she allowed him, to foster the idea that theirs was a special relationship. If pandering to his ego encouraged him to work that much harder, then all the better.

He stood before her, hands on hips in that oddly recalcitrant way of his, giving his brief report of the events of Cencestris. Actually, she thought, he had done well. Had the _Liberator_ not fled when it had, it would have been his for the taking. There would, however, be another time. For now, she had other concerns.

“I have the woman, Stannis, prisoner on my ship,” he concluded. Any satisfaction he felt in the success of his mission was strictly internalised, Servalan noted. “Do you wish me to handle the interrogation personally?”

“No,” she stated, allowing just enough censure to enter her voice for him to notice. “She is not to be harmed. You will turn her over to me.”

The briefest of hesitations before he spoke told her she had taken him by surprise. “She can tell us what Blake was doing on Cencestris,” Travis replied.

“I know what Blake was doing. She can tell us nothing.”

“I disagree.” 

One of the many things she liked about Travis was his unwillingness to hold back under any circumstances. He never tempered his words with talk of offering respect. On occasion, it irritated, but the man was worth a little mild annoyance.

“That is your prerogative,” she said in answer. She rose and came from behind the desk to face him. “You have your orders, Space Commander.”

Having them and understanding them were two different things. The struggle played out on what was left of his face. For Servalan, it was amusing to watch. For Travis, less so.

“Why wasn’t I informed about Blake’s activities?” he demanded.

“Because they did not concern you.”

“Everything about Blake concerns me,” Travis retorted.

“Not this,” Servalan replied.

He stared straight at her in open defiance. “Am I being dismissed?”

She offered him a slight smile. “Only for today.”

She turned her back on him.

“I could have taken them,” he said.

“Yes,” she concurred. “And then I would have had you court martialled for insubordination.”

“Why?”

There it was again, too forthright for his own good.

“They were a viable target,” he went on. “Had I not been in the area, we would not have picked up the alert. If I had had more time, more ships—”

“The next time you will,” she said, resuming her seat. He had already taken up too much of her time. His continued presence was trying her patience. “Now, turn your prisoner in for processing. That will be all, Space Commander.”

She turned back to her work. He lingered for a moment, then turned sharply and left. She looked up as the door closed and stared at the place where he had been. Travis was a liability that would one day need curbing. Timing would be the key. Leave it too long, and his ruin would be hers. 

For now, he had his uses. As long as he did not interfere in this. There was too much at stake. And killing him at this point, she reflected, would be a terrible waste.

* * * * * * *

Servalan was hiding something, that much was clear, thought Travis, as he retraced his steps back to his ship. He had not expected honours or praise, but the complete lack of acknowledgement was surprising. She had been almost too disinterested, which in itself was interesting. What was she planning, she wondered? What secret plan had he stumbled upon?

Getting it out of her was unthinkable. The woman was all artifice. That made her dangerous. If she was eager to keep something from him, then it must be worth the knowing.

He went straight to the hold, where his one remaining mutoid had the prisoner under guard. It never varied with these people. The bold look, the defiant jut of the jaw, the absolute conviction that they would tell him nothing. Still, he had to ask. It was expected.

“Tell me what Blake was doing on Cencestris,” he said.

Jenna, her hands bound uncomfortably behind her back, looked away.

Very well, if that’s how she wanted it, he thought, he was more than willing to oblige. Servalan’s instruction that she was not to be harmed was a problem, but not insurmountable. The usual methods would have to be avoided lest Servalan was alerted to his disobedience.

“Get me Tervivium 5,” he barked at the mutoid. “And then report for reprogramming, your memory is to be blanked. Make it quick, we don’t have much time.”

“Tervivium 5 is not licensed for use by the Federation,” the mutoid replied impassively.

“The Federation isn’t using it,” he snapped. “I am. And this is not a Federation citizen. She’s one of Blake’s people.” Once the mutoid had departed, he rested his foot on the bench beside Jenna and leaned over her, lowering his voice. “Now, are you sure you don’t want to tell me why Blake was there?”

* * * * * * *

Several hours later in his quarters, Travis had time to reflect on the information he had extracted from the woman. It had taken longer than he had hoped and the delay had required some explaining at prisoner processing, but it had been worth it.

So, Blake had a hitherto unknown family. That was unexpected. And all gathered together in one place. Convenient, Travis thought.

Well, he had the sister. She would be a lure to draw Blake in. Once he had him, he was going to take great pleasure in killing her and making Blake watch. Then the others, one at a time, as slowly and as excruciatingly as the Federation could devise. And for last, Blake himself. No, Travis considered, better to let him live for a while after that, to reflect on his loss. 

He smiled to him as he contemplated his bionic hand. The tide was finally turning in his favour and Blake would be the loser.

“Your death is coming, Blake,” he muttered to himself. “Depend on it!”


	5. Chapter Five

“Any news?”

Gan, listening intently to the chatter on the unscrambler headphones, did not respond. 

Blake suspected he was listening to the usual background noise that went with the Federation’s idea of control and domination. Troop movements, supply transfers, the odd ribald joke, speculation on the President’s health, and persuasive messages telling its citizens how happy they were, whether they knew it or not. What the unofficial channels were saying were another matter. Probably more useful too, thought Blake, especially in these circumstances. Since the Federation knew they were listening, it was an exercise in futility in every sense.

Still, he had appreciated the gesture when Gan had offered to monitor Federation communications. A selective data link already filtered out most of the useful information. Gan knew this, but he had, as he had said, a need to do something. Blake had left him to it and had refrained from pointing out that when the Federation was ready to let them know Jenna’s fate, it would come across loud and clear, not through some furtive message passed between remote listening stations.

Engrossed in the task, Blake had to touch him on the shoulder to get his attention. Gan promptly removed the headphones and Blake repeated the question.

“Nothing,” he said. “No mention of Jenna at all.”

“Did you expect there to be?” said Avon. “They know we are able to monitor their communications.”

“We have to try,” said Gan. “A message might be passed by accident.”

Blake found his faith strangely touching. For a man who had lost so much, to maintain a reservoir of optimism even in the direst situations required a strength of character that went unappreciated. Gan never said much, which in other company might have marked him down as a fool, the other side of Vila’s constant prattle to much the same effect. When he did speak, however, it was usually sensible or testament to the quiet determination that kept him steadfast when others were losing confidence.

That he was still here, after hours of monitoring Federation channels with little reward, Blake realised, was more than a gesture but a certainty that he could make a difference. Perhaps he could. This might the day that faith of his was finally rewarded.

Blake let him get back to his work and turned to Avon.

“How are you getting on?” he asked.

Avon, sitting at his station, had been keeping his distance. Ostensibly, he was reserving the blame for the events on Cencestris for Blake and making too good a show of it. Not entirely unwarranted, Blake had decided, since the decision to go after the data had been his. The choice of location had been down to Zen, however, and if the information on the station’s defences had been flawed, then that could not laid completely at his door. The attack by the pursuit ships had come out of nowhere. In the circumstances, the decision to leave Jenna behind had been unavoidable.

Avon blamed him, but not as much, Blake suspected, as he blamed himself.

From what Avon had said, with more time, he could have got her out. How true that was Blake had to wonder. More likely, it was designed to refine the blame more keenly to deflect it away from his own sense of failure. Getting him to admit it would never happen. Nor would it achieve anything. Jenna was still gone and Avon was too withdrawn for his account of how she had refused his teleport bracelet not to have been genuine.

“I have begun cross-referencing the data,” Avon stated. “The name you are looking for is Arcturus.”

“A person?” Blake queried.

“The director of the Federation’s Fertility Clinic on Earth. The name features in fifteen of the prisoner files I have examined.”

“And the rest?”

Avon turned his head slowly to give him a sour glance. “I haven’t examined them yet.”

“So, a clean sweep,” Blake mused. “Do we know the circumstances?”

“In the case of Arco and Nova and a few others, fertility treatment was offered to certain couples on condition they accepted the Federation’s offer of free passage to the Outer Worlds. A repopulation initiative, on the face of it.”

Blake nodded. “Fertility problems are not uncommon on Earth.” 

The legacy of old wars and decaying chemicals, extinction had been touted as a frightening possibility until the Federation had intervened with hope for those unable to conceive naturally. How true that had been was debatable. Blake suspected it had been another Federation initiative designed to control every aspect of their citizens’ lives. With every new generation, so the official line went, the situation was improving, but the majority still needed help if they wished to have a family.

“The others?” Blake asked.

“A mixture of private treatment and largesse for varying reasons.”

“All infertile couples?”

“Mostly.”

An evasive answer, which Blake was disinclined to pursue for now. “And the members of the _Liberator_?”

“I haven’t looked, if that’s what you’re asking.”

His tone implied that he expected the same treatment where his own past was concerned. 

“Then I should take a look at mine,” said Blake.

Avon stepped aside and let Blake take his place. He drifted away, giving Blake time to read the file, lingering on the edge of his peripheral vision just to make his presence felt without being intrusive.

“Arcturus,” said Blake finally. “A private application made for a third child, which was approved.” 

He considered for a moment. This was something new, something no one had ever mentioned. At least he thought not. As much as the memory erase had begun to fade, the gaps that remained made him question constantly whether they represented genuine losses or were manufactured. Like this, a revelation that did not accord with what he thought he knew. It made no difference, except for his usual sense of mild paranoia that started to tell him something felt wrong.

“What is it?” asked Avon.

“I’m not sure. It doesn’t feel right.” Blake shook his head. “Gan, did you want to have a look at yours?”

“I have already.” Gan seemed unconcerned as he smiled genially across at him. “It’s all right. I don’t mind telling you. I was an orphan, you see, so I never knew anything about my parents. Turns out they were part of this ‘free pass’ initiative Avon mentioned, only they never made it to the Outer Worlds.”

“Avon?” Blake prompted.

He folded his arms. Defensive, he had no intention of sharing more than was necessary. “I thought we agreed it was none of your business.”

“I’m not asking for the details. Arcturus?”

Grudgingly, Avon nodded. Like drawing blood from a stone, Blake thought.

“That’s too many to be a coincidence.” Blake stepped down and went over to where Avon was standing, bristling from having had an admission dragged out of him. “Genetic experimentation, perhaps?”

Avon gave him a sideways look. “It depends whether you think they created _him_ on purpose.”

He inclined his head to where Vila was coming down the steps accompanied by Cally. From the expression on his face, it was evident to Blake what they had been discussing.

“Blake, you have to hear this,” said Vila. “Cally’s been telling me about the brood units on Auron and something called spontaneous... er, what was it again?”

“Spontaneous cell differentiation,” said Cally patiently. “We use a bio-replication plant for reproductive purposes. It could be that something similar may have been used in this case. That means there may be others from the same sibling group.”

“Imagine that,” said Vila. “Avon and I could be twins. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Well,” said Avon dryly, “they do say small things please small minds.”

Vila frowned. “Have I just been insulted? I have, haven’t I?”

Avon moved away from him. “When you come to a decision, let us know.”

“I don’t know, Cally,” said Blake thoughtfully. He was aware he was holding back. Cally seemed comfortable with the subject, so the reticence and potential embarrassment was all his side. “This seems to be random, a case of selecting a range of people of varying backgrounds from the available applicants. The male parent is the only common factor.”

“So what does that make us?” said Vila. “Their failures?”

“Or their successes,” said Avon, taking a seat in the forward area. “We do not know what Arcturus was trying to achieve. He may have been a revolutionary for all we know, trying to bring down the Federation by undermining the rule of law. In which case, the prisoners on the _London_ represented the Federation’s attempt to remove the subversive element he had introduced into society.”

“Do you believe that?” Blake asked.

Avon smiled, just enough for a flash of his teeth. “No. Although it’s a pattern I thought you might appreciate. In any case,” he continued, “it’s largely irrelevant. Files can be doctored. Until we are able to find someone to conduct independent, unbiased testing, I am not prepared to take anyone’s word for our supposed parentage.”

“Oh, come on, Avon,” said Vila, taking a seat beside him. “It’s a bit far-fetched. Who would go to the trouble of changing all those records? And for what? So we could have a big family get-together?”

“That’s the problem,” said Avon. “It seems a pointless exercise, on the face of it.”

“Then it must be true.” Vila was warming to his role. “It’s not so bad, you know. You’ll get used to the idea of having half-brothers.”

“I already have one.”

“Oh? When do the rest of the family get to meet him?”

Avon held his gaze. “You won’t. He’s dead.”

Vila grimaced. “Me and my big mouth.”

“If it is true,” Cally spoke up, tactfully breaking the awkward impasse, “wouldn’t it be taking a risk to allow people unaware they are related to mingle in the Outer Worlds? We have protocols to prevent such a thing on Auron.”

“Not necessarily,” said Blake. “If the _London_ was typical of Arcturus’ children, then they must have been operating a system of sex-determination.”

“With one exception,” said Avon.

Blake nodded. “Jenna. Why the exception?”

“If she were here, she could tell us herself.”

He let the thought hang. The solution was obvious, even if the prospect of prying felt intrusive.

“I’ll do it,” offered Cally. “If there is anything I think you should know, I’ll tell you.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Vila. “I mean, you’re not family.”

“Vila, that’s enough,” said Blake sharply. Whether he believed it what he was saying or was trying to make light of the subject, this act of his was starting to wear thin. “Cally, do it.”

Blake caught himself watching her closely, trying to read the subtle changes in her expression as she went to the console and consulted the file. He could not pinpoint quite what he was expecting. When Cally did look up, he saw the consternation in her face.

“Blake, you should see this.”

He was moving before she had stopped speaking. He scanned the file, saw what had given her pause and made the decision to tell the others.

“Jenna is Arcturus’ natural daughter.”

“What?!” said Vila, jumping up. “How is that possible?” His face fell. "But if we're related and Arcuturus is Jenna's father, doesn't that make him _our_ father too?"

“According to this,” Blake went on, ignoring him for the moment, “Arcturus was in a relationship with her mother. He disappeared when Jenna was two years old. The mother was arrested and sent to a prison colony. The child was sent to an orphanage away from Earth. _If_ I believe this.”

“Which is the first sensible thing you’ve said since Vanguard,” said Avon. “True or not, it does offer an explanation for Jenna’s presence on the _London_. Which raises another problem.”

Blake waited for Avon to continue.

“Jenna will have told the Federation by now about our ‘alleged’ relationship,” he said, after his practised pause had drawn their collective attention.

“I don’t see why she would,” said Gan.

“She won’t have the choice. That will present difficulties for us.”

“I don’t see what difference it makes if we are related,” said Vila with a shrug. “The Federation want us all dead anyway.”

“Well now, if I were Travis,” Avon continued, his faint smile betraying the pleasure he was taking from watching Vila’s growing uneasiness, “and I had discovered Blake had a ‘family’, I would make it my mission to kill every one of us, slowly and with maximum suffering, and I would make _him_ watch.” He emphasised his point by gesturing to Blake. “Does that explain it for you, Vila?”

Vila pulled a face. “I don’t think I like the sound of that. I’m squeamish, you know. Never could stand the sight of blood.”

“Good,” said Avon. “Because when Travis asks for a volunteer, you can go first. The absence of your whining will be something less the rest of us will have to endure.”

Vila started pacing in a state of nervous agitation, going first to Avon and to Blake and back again. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “I don’t want to be your brother, Blake, or anyone’s brother. Much happier being an only child.”

“Sit down, Vila,” said Gan. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. Isn’t that right, Blake?”

Avon could have phrased it better, but inwardly Blake had to agree. It was exactly the sort of thing Travis would do.

“Jenna is my immediate concern,” he said. “More likely, they will suggest a trade.”

“And because they know she is Blake’s sister—”

“Our sister,” Gan interjected.

“ _Your_ sister,” Avon went on, without missing a beat, “they will ask for the _Liberator_. That is the only reason she might still be alive. If I were you, Blake, I should make my mind up now before they ask. Well, what is it to be?”

That too had occurred to him. It was decision they all had to make, not just him.

“I’ll let you know, when and _if_ it happens,” he retorted.

Avon was not ready to back down. He rose and came over to where Blake was standing, positioning himself to be so close that they were nearly touching. “Then let me make it easy for you. To use Jenna’s own words, she knew the risks. She knew what would happen when she took off my bracelet.”

There it was, Blake decided. Not so much about the present situation as the past. 

“Blake!” Gan said suddenly. Ever vigilant, he had been keeping the headphones within earshot. “There’s a message from Space Command. For us.”

“Cally, acknowledge and establish a voice contact,” said Blake. Confirmation came a moment later. “This is the _Liberator_.”

“Blake, I have a member of your crew.” 

A woman’s voice. Servalan.

“Is she alive?” he demanded.

“And unharmed. _For now_.” A meaningful pause. “I am authorised to make a trade.”

“Here it comes,” murmured Avon.

“I want Arcturus.” Blake exchanged a quick glance with Avon. He had not been expecting that. “Oh, I’m sure you know about him, by now. That is why you accessed Central Records, isn’t it? Turn him over to me and your crew member will be returned.”

“Why?” Blake asked.

“That is not your concern. It’s a simple trade. One life for another.”

“Very well,” said Blake. “How long do we have?”

“I am in no hurry,” said Servalan reasonably. “Only, you should be aware that the base where your friend is being held is running low on supplies. They might be able to spare a glass of water for her every now and then, but our men have priority where food is concerned. You do understand?”

“Yes,” said Blake with difficulty. “I understand.”

“Good. I shall await your further contact.”

The channel went dead. Blake turned sharply to the others.

“How long does that give us?”

“Without food?” said Cally. “Two, three weeks at the most.”

“Right, that’s all we have.”

“To find a man who went missing over twenty-five years ago?” said Avon.

Blake rounded on him. “Then you’d better start looking.” Avon gave him a resentful glance and went back to his station. “Contact everybody, resistance groups, Avalon, anyone you can think of who might know where Arcturus is.”

“If he’s still alive,” said Vila.

“He’d better be,” muttered Blake under his breath. Jenna’s life depended on it.


	6. Chapter Six

Five long days with no leads and tempers were fraying. 

It had got to the point where Blake knew the answer he was going to receive before they said it. No one by that name, no information, all very sorry and better luck elsewhere. The man had disappeared completely, as though he had left Earth and flown straight into a black hole. As Avon had said several times, anyone who could vanish as successfully as Arcturus either had exceptional reasons for not wanting to be found or was no longer around to leave a trail.

As true as that was, he was tired of being reminded. Tired physically too, from inadequate sleep and too long following unproductive enquiries. The few hours of rest he was allowing himself did little to improve his mood. Returning to the flight deck, the sight of Vila sitting around doing nothing with a glass in one hand and a plate balanced on his knee brought his frustrations to the fore.

“Are enjoying that?” he said critically.

Vila paused between chewing and looked up, guiltily. “I’ve been up all night! I was starving.”

A poor choice of words, Blake thought. Whether by accident or design, off-hand he could not remember the last time he had eaten himself. A conceit, he reflected, as though sympathetic starvation made any difference, except to keep his mind focused on the problem. Expecting anyone else to do the same was unreasonable.

“Sorry,” Vila muttered, pushing his plate aside. “Me going hungry won’t help Jenna though.”

“I know,” Blake conceded with a sigh. “Just hurry up and get back to work.” Vila stuffed the last of his food into his mouth and slunk back to his station. Blake turned his attention to Cally, who had been watching the exchange with interest. “Any progress?”

“Nothing. We’re waiting to hear back from Avalon. She’s still out of contact.”

Their last good hope, gone to ground somewhere in Sector Five, after stirring up enough trouble on Agonitas to last the governing body a lifetime. The timing had been unfortunate. Thousands of oppressed workers in open revolt meant that the Federation had increased the bounty on Avalon’s head. With anyone with a grudge or an inclination to make a quick fortune looking for her, all incoming messages were naturally being treated with suspicion. Blake had hoped their former association might count for something, but he could not blame her for putting her own safety first.

“Where’s Avon?” he asked, looking around.

“I sent him to bed an hour ago,” said Cally. “He was complaining of eye strain.”

“Wake him. We’ll try Avalon again. Gan too.”

“Blake.” Cally gently touched his arm. “We need rest, and so do you. This isn’t helping.”

“We can rest later. Get Avon.”

Cally held back.

“Very well, then I’ll do it,” said Blake. He activated the communicator and ignored the grumbled reply. “You’re needed on the flight deck _now_.” He released the button before Avon could protest. “Right, who haven’t we tried? What about the resistance movement on Peridien?”

“Collapsed twelve months ago,” said Cally. “The planet is under martial law.”

“We should go there,” Blake asserted. “It’s the sort of place Arcturus could be hiding.” 

“Why Peridien?” asked Vila.

“They were experimenting with cloning with limited success before the revolution that removed the planet from Federation control. It stands to reason Arcturus could have been helping them. Zen,” he called out. “Have the navigation computers set in a course for the planet Peridien. Standard by Twelve.”

“Energy banks three and four are already exhausted,” said Cally. “According to these readings, Peridien is in Sector Seven. By the time we get there, our energy reserves will be very low.”

“Zen, confirm!” said Blake. “We’ll manage, Cally.”

“Oh, good,” came Avon’s voice from the head of the stairs. “I do enjoy tackling Federation strongholds when we are underpowered and outgunned.”

Blake gave him the briefest glance. “You took your time.”

“Yes, well, I was asleep. It happens, occasionally, when I’m allowed to close both eyes at the same time.” He was half-dressed in only his grey shirt and trousers. His eyes were still heavy with sleep and he looked like he was having trouble focusing. “What now?”

“I need to you try to contact Avalon again.”

Avon’s expression did not waver. “You do not need me for that.”

“Do it anyway.” Blake was short with him. “Priority coding.”

Avon remained where he was. “We have already tried three times.”

“Then try again!”

"No." Ignoring Blake’s baleful glare, he took a seat in the forward area and made himself comfortable. “I’m tired of searching for someone who doesn’t want to be found.”

“That’s it? You’re just going to sit there?”

“Yes. I see no reason why we should do the Federation’s dirty work for them.”

Blake stood over him, hands on hips. “What about Jenna?”

“The likelihood of getting her back, even if you do find Arcturus, is remote. You know that.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have lost her in the first place.” 

It was a cheap shot. Avon’s eyes narrowed a fraction but that was the only reaction Blake got. He rose slowly and held his ground.

“It should never have gone this far,” said he. “Vila’s illness, the tests, the files – all an elaborate set-up to get you to do what the Federation could not. What you should be asking is why they want him. That is what will save Jenna’s life, not tearing halfway across the galaxy on a whim.”

Blake eyed him steadily. “When you’re in charge, Avon, you can do what you like. For now, we’re going to Peridien. Try Avalon again.”

“Do it yourself,” said Avon. “I’m going back to bed.”

He turned to go. 

“Don’t walk away from me,” said Blake.

Avon paused and looked over his shoulder. “Or you’ll do what?”

Blake never had the chance to tell him. In the silence that followed, he caught the distinctive chime of a call sign.

“Avalon,” Cally confirmed. “The point of origin appears to be Sogar in Sector Three.”

“Sogar?” said Vila. “What’s on Sogar?”

“Avalon, apparently,” said Avon.

“Blake.” Avalon’s voice sounded scratchy and distorted by interference through the communications link. “I understand you are looking for a man called Arcturus.”

“Yes. Look, I know it’s a long shot, but if you have any information on his whereabouts—”

“We have Arcturus.”

For once, Blake found himself lost for words. Days of searching and there he was, with Avalon all along.

“That’s a stroke of luck,” said Vila. “And to think we were about to give up hope.”

“Avalon,” said Blake, “we need Arcturus to exchange for Jenna.”

There was a slight pause. “Who is holding her?”

“The Federation.”

“Then I am sorry. You cannot have him. It is too dangerous to let the Federation have him back.”

“Did she just say no?” said Vila incredulously. “I thought she was on our side.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Blake began.

“No, _you_ don’t understand,” Avalon replied. “I’m sorry about Jenna. If you need a replacement for her, we have several good pilots who would be willing to join you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Blake saw Cally and Vila exchange glances. Avalon might accept losing people as a necessary evil, but he was not about to give up so easily.

“What is Arcturus to the Federation?” he asked.

“A threat and an opportunity,” came Avalon’s reply. “Know that I would help you if I could, but this of all things I cannot give you. Goodbye, Blake.”

The channel closed with an audible snap. For Avalon at least, the discussion was at an end.

“Interesting,” noted Avon.

“Is that all you have to say?” said Blake with irritation.

“Would you prefer an observation? Very well. Is Arcturus Avalon’s prisoner or guest?”

“Does it matter?” said Cally.

“Too dangerous, Avalon said. But she did not say for whom.” Avon frowned slighted. “Because of what he _has_ done or because of what he can do _now_?”

“While you’re quibbling about semantics, we’re no closer to getting Jenna back,” said Blake.

“I agree. But it might explain why the Federation want him.”

“You mean, if it’s for something in the past, they want to get rid of him,” said Vila thoughtfully. “But if it’s for something in the future, then he could be a danger to us all.” His brows pulled together as his eyes darted in Blake’s direction. “I don’t think I like the sound of that.”

“In which case, Avalon might be right about not returning him to the Federation,” said Cally.

Blake turned to them. “Then let’s ask him.”

“Oh, I don’t think Avalon is going to allow that,” said Vila. 

“I wasn’t planning on asking her.”

Cally, concerned etched on her features, stepped down from her console and came over to him. “Blake, is this wise? Avalon is our ally.”

“And Jenna is our friend.” He looked over at Avon. “Well? Nothing to say?”

A faint smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Only to ask how you plan on stealing Arcturus without alerting Avalon.”

“I’ll let you know,” Blake said dismissively. “Why don’t you get some sleep, Avon? You look tired.” He turned his back on him. “Zen, set a course for Sogar, speed standard by ten. If Avalon won't give him to us willingly, then we’re taking him – _by force_!”


	7. Chapter Seven

By the time Cally entered the teleport room, Blake and Gan were already there, voices lowered in discussion. As soon as he saw her, Blake came forward while Gan seated himself behind the teleport console and began to fiddle with the controls.

“You’re ready?” Blake asked. “Now, you know what you have to do?”

She gave him a reassuring smile. They had been over the plan enough times for her to recite it in her sleep. “Yes,” she said patiently. “I will be fine.”

Blake returned the gesture. “It’s not you I’m worried about.”

From the corridor, the hushed murmur of voices heralded the arrival of Vila and Avon. With all the members of the _Liberator_ assembled, it was beginning to feel like a solemn occasion. Gathered together like this, she was suddenly overwhelmed by the strongest impression that she might never see them again. She tried to fix their images in her mind – Avon, grey against black, standing slightly apart looking on; Vila, believing that ten colours were better than one when it came to clothes and never deciding quite which suited him best; Gan, working methodically through the process of setting the co-ordinates for teleport, slow yet dependable; and Blake, standing at her side, his warm brown eyes fixed on hers, his mouth moving to words she could not hear. She felt his hand close around her arm and the illusion shattered.

“Are you all right?” he was asking with concern.

She shook off the lingering feeling of dislocation. “Yes. It was nothing.”

“Very well.” The look he gave her suggested he was not entirely convinced, but he let it pass. “Vila, did you manage it?”

“There, all done,” said Vila. He had Cally’s light green parka folded over his arm. “I’ve sewed the extra teleport bracelet into the pocket like you said. If you pull that seam, it will come apart.” He passed it over and watched as Cally pulled it on. “Oh, and here, take this.” He produced a small box-like device from his sleeve. “My best lock pick. It will get you into any room. Well, most rooms. I want it back though,” he said quickly. “You will look after it, won’t you?”

“I’ll do my best,” said Cally.

“Well, in that case, you hold it against the lock,” said he, demonstrating. “Press that button and the pick will do the rest.” He handed it to her and she stowed it in her pocket. “It’s easy to use. Idiot-proof, in fact.”

“As tested by the finest idiot in the business,” said Avon.

Vila gave him a sideways glance. “It’s all very well you finding fault. What are you giving her?”

“Good advice,” said Avon. “Do not trust Avalon’s people. They have already betrayed her once.”

“I’m sure she’s tightened up her protocols by now,” said Blake.

“Let’s hope so. Given what happened before, the last thing we need is for Travis to show up.”

Blake shook his head. “Don’t you think the Federation would have Arcturus by now if that was the case?”

“Just be careful, Cally,” said Avon, ignoring him.

“I’ll second that,” said Gan. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks. We don’t know what this man is capable of.”

Cally turned to Blake, her voice earnest. “We are sure, aren’t we, that this is the only way?”

“We’ve been over this,” he said, guiding her into the teleport bay. “Get Arcturus and then we’ll decide what to do with him. I’m not prepared to gamble with Jenna’s life based on some vague warning.”

“But if he is as dangerous as Avalon says—”

“Cally, we’re running out of time.” Blake backed away. “Now, contact us the minute you have him. There’ll be someone on watch at all times.”

“And remember what I told you,” Vila spoke up. “Tell them the truth. It confuses people. They don’t expect it.”

“I agree,” said Avon.

“You do?” Vila’s tone was suspicious. “I don’t think I like you agreeing with me, Avon. It makes me nervous.”

“I wouldn’t worry, Vila,” he replied. “It’s unlikely to happen again.”

“Ready?” said Blake.

Cally nodded. Gan checked the co-ordinates and activated the controls. Caught in the bright glow of the teleport, the sight of the others blurred before her eyes, to be replaced by the thin fleshy limbs of saplings, each glistening from the softly falling rain. The ground squelched beneath her boots, giving rise to the rich smells of decay and damp earth. Sogar, the tenth planet in the Drana system, uncivilised and uncolonised, owing to the lack of applicants willing to live in a world where it rained constantly save for the few days before and after the vernal equinox. Life had evolved to cope with the soggy conditions, with most lifeforms being fungus-based. Giant mushroom-like growths thrust their capped heads twenty feet into the air, greedy to capture what heat was produced by the distant sun, dimly-glimpsed in the cloud-shrouded sky.

As weak as it was, when combined with the heat produced by decaying materials, both conspired to make Sogar uncomfortably humid. Cally pulled at her collar to get a little breeze to her skin and pushed on.

According to Zen, this was the driest location on the planet. Going up to her knees in a stinking swamp made her start to think that the information had been inaccurate. Unlike most planets, Sogar had an exceptionally deep surface layer of topsoil with the bedrock located some 30,000 feet below. If there were structures, so Blake had suggested, they were likely to be arboreal.

Cally had been following his advice by keeping her gaze turned skywards when the feeling came upon her that she was not alone. At first, it was the merest brush of another mind. The stronger it became, so was her certainty that whoever it was harboured the deepest hostility to her presence. The closer they came, so their nervousness grew. The rapidity of their heartbeat, the short breaths, the sweat of anticipation – she could feel it as though she was walking beside them. Someone inexperienced, she decided. Let them get too near without making the first move and she could find herself getting shot.

She stopped, held up her hands and called out to them. “My name is Cally,” she announced. “I wish to see Avalon. Blake sent me.”

There was a long silence, punctuated only by the sound of raindrops dripping from the canopy above. Then the sucking sound of boots moving through thick mud. She remained still as the presence came up behind her, potent with the pungent aromas of sweat and mould.

“Avalon knows me,” Cally said. “Take me to her.”

There was a hesitation. “How did you get here?”

“Teleport. Here, take my bracelet.” Careful not to lower her arms, she unclipped it and let it drop. “Show it to Avalon. She will recognise it.”

It would have been too easy to disarm them, she thought, as they took the bait and stooped to pick up the bracelet. She allowed them to push the muzzle of their gun in the small of her back and followed the command to walk forward, through the yielding bog and onwards, until she came to a hole in the ground. A ladder was propped up against one of its sloping slides and a prod from the gun told her to descend. Ten feet down, a rusted hatch had been dug free of the surrounding mud. Her captor, a young man of no more than twenty, made the mistake of bending down in front of her to open it. He had not even searched her. 

One day, she reflected, that error would cost him his life. But not today.

The hatch led down into the body of a decayed spaceship. The once-silver surfaces had tarnished and corroded in the moisture-laden air. Muddy bootprints led away in every direction and against the walls boxes of every size and description were stacked in haphazard fashion. On down the main corridor she was sent to a sizeable room that had been commandeered as Avalon’s command room.

Cally recognised the slight form of the resistance leader as she entered. Under the glow of ancient fractured yellow lights, she appeared sickly and haggard, as though the recent excesses she had endured were taking their toil. Leaving the discussion with her lieutenants, she came over, pleasant surprise registering on her face.

“It’s Cally, isn’t it?” she said. “Yes, I remember. You were on the _Liberator_.” She took in Cally’s stained clothes and wet hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to warn you, Avalon,” said Cally. “Blake is coming for Arcturus. He sent me to take him from you.”

Avalon stared at her in disbelief.

“I will not do it,” Cally went on earnestly. “Blake is wrong. We cannot turn Arcturus over to the Federation if he is as dangerous as you say.”

“Secure the perimeter!” Avalon yelled. “Maximum range on the detectors. Find the _Liberator_ and deploy tactical defence measures.” In the scurry as the others ran to carry out her orders, Avalon took the time to place her hand on Cally’s shoulder. “I thank you. I realise this cannot have been easy.”

“ _Liberator_ in fixed orbit,” called one of her men. “Readying the plasma flares.”

“No!” said Cally. “I don’t want them hurt. Blake is wrong but I understand why he has done this. Let me speak to him.”

“I owe him that much,” said Avalon, nodding. “Very well, Cally.”

The young man handed her back the teleport bracelet. Slipping it back on her wrist, she activated the communicator.

“Blake, this is Cally.”

“Do you have him?” came his voice. “That was quick.”

“No.” She faltered, aware that she was being watched. “I have told Avalon, Blake.”

“What do you mean?” She could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “What’s happening down there? Do you need us to bring you up?”

“No. I told her the plan because you are wrong about Arcturus.”

Predictably, he was angry. “Cally, what have you done? You’ve killed Jenna, you do realise that.”

“I know,” she said with difficulty. “I must live with that. But many more will suffer if Arcturus is handed over to the Federation.”

“Is Avalon there?” he said. “Let me speak to her.”

Cally offered up her wrist. 

“This is Avalon,” she said. “We have surface launchers fixed on your position. Leave now. I’m sorry it has to be like this, Blake, but believe me when I say we will protect Arcturus with our lives.”

“Very well,” said Blake. “We will go. We won’t forget this, Avalon.”

“No,” she said soberly. “Nor will we.”

And then the final parting shot. “You can keep Cally. We have no room for traitors on the _Liberator_.”

The channel went silent.

“ _Liberator_ breaking orbit,” said one of Avalon’s people. "They're leaving."

On the main screen, a small red dot could be seen moving out of Sogar’s range.

“I fear we have just lost our most valuable ally,” said Avalon heavily.

Cally kept watching until the red dot disappeared from the screen. “And I have lost my friends,” she murmured. “Goodbye, Blake.”


	8. Chapter Eight

“Here, drink this. You look like you need it.”

Cally took the offered cup. The contents were warm, bitter and tainted with that foetid, stagnant aroma which was Sogar’s own particular smell. Despite that, it was welcome.

Avalon sat down on the bench beside her. In the midst of much activity, this was the one quiet corner of the base, a small oasis in which to reflect on recent events.

“Where will you go?” she asked.

Cally glanced over at her. The concern had seemed genuine. “I do not know. I cannot go home. And Blake...” She fiddled distractedly with the teleport bracelet. “He will not have me back. Not now.”

“You could stay with us,” said Avalon. “We always need new recruits.”

“Then I accept.” Cally offered her a rueful smile. “If you don’t mind having a traitor in your midst.”

“If Blake knew the truth, he would not be so judgemental.”

“Who is Arcturus? We discovered he was the director of a fertility clinic on Earth, but nothing more. What makes him dangerous?”

Avalon set aside her own cup, taking her time while she marshalled her thoughts. “You’re from Auron, aren’t you?” Cally nodded. “Can you read minds?”

“Only if the other person is telepathic.”

“But you can get a general impression?” Avalon rose decisively. “Come with me, you might be able to help.”

People passed left and right, busy in their work, as Cally followed a few feet behind the slender woman who commanded their loyalty. The ship must have housed a hundred bedraggled souls or more, each now employed in stacking boxes and gathering equipment.

“Are you leaving?” Cally asked.

“We can’t stay here now Blake knows our location,” Avalon said.

“He would never tell anyone.”

“But he might come back. He must not take Arcturus.”

“Arcturus is here?”

Avalon gestured about her. “This was his vessel. He crashed on Sogar twenty-five years ago after fleeing from Earth. The ship has been sinking ever since. We found him a year ago and now we use this as a base whenever we need somewhere safe. The rest of the time, someone is always with him.”

“You fear what he might do?” Cally asked.

“No,” said Avalon. “What he might say.”

She had stopped outside a closed door. Positioning herself so Cally could not see, she deactivated the lock and then gestured for her to enter.

The room was clean and ordered, a stark contrast to the mud-smeared chaos beyond its four walls. A thin, hatchet-faced woman got to her feet when she saw Avalon, a quick shake of her head confirming that her ward, the only other occupant in the room, had been uncommunicative. 

“This is Arcturus,” said Avalon.

He was an elderly man in his nineties, wizened and arthritic, a few stray white hairs clinging to the wrinkled scalp around the fringes. The peppering of liver-spots across his paper-thin skin told of a life lived under the glare of a brighter sun, years before the lack of daylight on this sodden world had robbed any bloom from his skin. He sat at a desk, his hands clasped before him as if in supplication, his gaze bent on a blank viewscreen set in the wall. Lost in his own world, only he knew what his faded grey eyes beheld and understood the words that his lips formed without ever making a sound.

“What is wrong with him?” asked Cally.

“He was here on Sogar for a long time on his own,” explained Avalon. “No link with the outside world, no hope of rescue. This is how we found him.”

Cally crouched down at his side, reached out and touched the frail arm. Arcturus turned his head to gaze down at her. Some vague emotion gave a little animation to his downcast features.

“I made my children beautiful,” he said softly, raising his hand to brush his fingers along her cheek. “Are you my child?”

“No,” she said. “My people are the Auronar.”

He shook his head, muttering as he turned from her. “Not from Earth,” he was saying. “My children were beautiful.”

“That’s all he ever says,” remarked Avalon. “What we don’t know is whether he really has lost his mind or this is a pretence he puts on for our benefit. Can you tell?”

Cally frowned as she stared at his pale profile. His mind was closed to her, but she had the strong impression from him of longing and pride and expectation. “He is waiting,” she said carefully. “Waiting for them to come for him.”

She patted the wrinkled hand that rested limply on the edge of his chair and left his side. Whatever Arcturus had been was lost a long time ago.

“Will they? Come for him, I mean?” Cally asked Avalon.

“It would make our lives easier if they did,” she replied. “But no. I doubt those that remain even know who he is. He was careful to conceal their existence. We only know of them because of what he tells us, and then very little.”

She indicated it was time to leave. Cally followed her out and Avalon locked the door behind her.

“Who were they?” said Cally.

“The children of unsuspecting parents,” said Avalon as they walked back down the corridor together. “Arcturus was a genius, the youngest ever director of the Federation fertility clinic at the age of thirty. He promoted the official line that genetic engineering would eventually eradicate many human diseases. Unofficially, the President and High Council had given their blessing to a programme which eliminated the element of chance in producing the people they needed. Leaders, commanders, scientists, tacticians, experts in every field, Arcturus promised he could design whatever they required.”

Avalon paused and glanced about to see if any of her people were close enough to hear.

“He tampered with human DNA,” she went on, satisfied they were not being overheard. “Certain traits were enhanced, others suppressed. Unfortunately, those changes also made them unstable. When the first generation came to maturity, the problems began to reveal themselves. Ruthless, ambitious, vicious, self-serving psychopaths, devoid of conscience. They were born with the instinct to analyse and recognise threats.” She lowered her voice. “These people were predators, Cally. They preyed upon their opposition and then they preyed upon each other.”

Cally shook her head in disbelief. “If this is true, why is it not general knowledge? We suspected something of the kind, but this is horrific.”

“Because many used those fertility clinics,” said Avalon. “Even now, that information is closely guarded. I have only learned this much from scattered verbal accounts. Some of my own people owe their existence to those same clinics. They know only that Arcturus can help us, but not the details. I am telling you in confidence so that you may understand your sacrifice was not in vain. As you are not of Earth, this does not affect you, but please, tell no one.”

“What became of them?”

“While they were eliminating each other, it could be dismissed as the natural flow of politics. But then, thirty-seven years ago, an attempt was made on the life of the President. From that moment, if what Arcturus says makes any sense, the programme was halted. His ‘Children’, as he calls them, were purged. This coincided with several major epidemics that claimed the lives of the younger children and many others in the domes on Earth. All evidence of their existence was destroyed, and Arcturus removed from his post. He was, however, allowed to remain in an advisory capacity.”

Cally caught her meaning. “Where he continued his work.”

Avalon nodded. “If we understand him correctly, he began to insert these people randomly into the population, in the hope they would rise naturally to prominence without arousing suspicion. He refined the programme and attempted to remove the instability that had blighted earlier generations. Twelve years after the President shut down his activities, he claims he was betrayed. The purges would have begun again had he not fled. He has been on Sogar ever since.”

Cally thought back to recent discussions on the _Liberator_. “Was Arcturus their father?”

“He may consider himself to be,” said Avalon. “But no. Using his own DNA would have made them easy to track down. Only Arcturus knew who they were. That is what makes him dangerous.”

“And why the Federation want him back,” said Cally. “To identify these people.”

“Either to destroy them or use them.” Avalon gripped Cally’s arm. “Do you see now why we could not give him to Blake? If Arcturus did refine his technique to eliminate some of the worst aspects of their personalities, then these people could be our allies, revolutionaries even, the greatest forces for good we have ever known. With them, we could defeat the Federation. That is why we must find them before they do. Our concern is that if they are unaware of their potential, the Federation could turn them against us. Worse still, they could restart the programme using their DNA.”

“I understand,” Cally said. “You’ve been watching Arcturus to see if he ever mentioned their names.”

“I doubt he knows the details himself any more,” said Avalon ruefully. “Well, you’ve seen him. His visual memory is more reliable. We show him pictures of prominent Federation citizens in the hope he may recognise them. We have had some success with this method.”

“You know who these people are?”

“We did. The ones identified so far are dead. Several eventually developed the same instability that affected the earlier ‘Children of Arcturus’. They were removed to penal colonies where they succumbed to disease or met with accidents. Others have been murdered.”

“Then someone else does knows,” said Cally.

Avalon’s brow furrowed. “Arcturus says the Children will recognise each other. How, he has never said. One characteristic they share in common is dark hair and eyes, but then so do a lot of people. It must be something else. If one of the Children is killing the others, then they must be within the Federation, but acting without their knowledge. One who Arcturus identified was an outspoken critic of the Federation in the Outer Worlds. He was assassinated before we ever knew of his origins. And before you ask,” said Avalon, anticipating Cally’s next question, “yes, we did show Arcturus images of the members of the _Liberator_. We had hopes Blake might be one of the Children, but Arcturus did not recognise him.”

“Then I was right to act as I did,” Cally said decidedly.

“And we are grateful,” said Avalon. “But now I must go. We leave for Valinar in the next three hours. We will have to take Arcturus. He cannot remain on Sogar now.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

The offer was gratefully accepted. Mentioning her previous work in communications found Cally helping to dismantle cipher equipment in what had been the forward section of the ship. With so many people coming and going, it was easy to slip away unnoticed. Stepping into an empty store room, she activated her communicator.

“ _Liberator_ , come in.”

The response was instantaneous. “Cally!” came Vila’s voice. “We were starting to get worried.”

“He’s here,” she said. “I’m going for him now.”

“We’re on our way. How long do you need?”

“Ten minutes.”

Returning to the corridor, she kept her head down as she made her way back to Arcturus’ room. A lull in the busy throng gave her the opportunity to place Vila’s pick against the lock. It made a slight whirring sound, then came a click and the door slid open. Cally stood with her back pressed against the wall, waiting. Curiosity brought the watcher from within to the threshold. As soon as the woman was clear, Cally struck her on the back of the head, catching her as she fell. Having dragged the unconscious woman’s into the room, she relocked the door and turned her attention to Arcturus. 

The old man was at his desk, still staring at the blank screen, ever hopeful for a glimpse of his children. Pulling at the seam in her pocket released the spare teleport bracelet. He made no attempt to resist as she closed it around his wrist.

“Are you my child?” he asked again.

“I’m going to take you to them.” She hoped it would calm him. The last thing she needed was for Arcturus to alert Avalon out of fear or distress. “They are waiting for you.”

“Yes,” he breathed. His expression became one of silent ecstasy. “At last.”

“Not long now,” she said reassuringly. 

She had been faster than expected. Four minutes remained. She thought about calling the _Liberator_ again when the door suddenly opened behind her. Avalon was there, a weapon in her hand, with several armed men at her back.

“You were not lying when you said you were a traitor,” said she bitterly. “After all I have told you, Cally, you would still betray us?”

Cally slipped both arms behind her back, pressing the button on her teleport bracelet to keep the channel open so the others could hear what was happening. Time to leave, she thought. Four minutes was a long time to keep Avalon talking.

“I promise you,” Cally said, “I will tell Blake what he has done. If handing over Arcturus can be avoided—”

“No!” Avalon’s hand tightened on her weapon, her face stricken. “Have you heard nothing I have said? Arcturus will destroy us, Cally!”

“Some of his Children are good, you said so yourself.”

“And the rest are killers,” Avalon retorted. “Why do you think I confided in you? To convince you to give this up. Did you really expect me to believe that the _Liberator_ would run because of our few defences? They were only ever intended to give us time to eliminate Arcturus if the Federation came for him. I knew Blake would try something like this. Your mistake was in keeping your bracelet. Now, take it off. I can’t allow you to contact your friends.”

Cally felt her heart start to race. Avalon had not been deceived, but was not aware of their whole plan. She could not be allowed to see the spare bracelet that Arcturus already wore. Cally positioned herself in front of him, blocking Avalon’s view.

“I don’t want to have to hurt you,” Avalon said, mistaking her move as one of protection for the old man. “But this will end now with his death. Better that Arcturus dies rather than fall into the hands of the Federation. I am sorry, Cally, but I cannot allow Blake to take him.” She nodded to her men. “Move her and get that bracelet.”

They started towards her, only to halt mid-step. It took Cally a second to realise that it was her world that had frozen, not theirs. Avalon, too slow to fire her weapon, mouth open in a stifled cry of anguish, faded into the white glare of the teleport and familiar surroundings and familiar faces took their place. Beside her, without the support of his chair, Arcturus slumped to the floor and lay in the teleport bay softly groaning.

“Well done, Cally,” said Blake, smiling as he came forward. “And welcome back.”


	9. Chapter Nine

“So this is Arcturus.” Vila wrinkled his nose as he regarded the old man on the couch, part out of sympathy, part out of revulsion. “It’s true then, what they say about going mad if you’re on your own for too long.”

With Sogar left behind and the interceptor flares deployed by Avalon’s resistance forces falling ever further behind, there was a decision to be made. On the face of it, the life of an elderly Federation scientist for that of a friend should not have presented a problem. Except, now that Blake had heard what Cally had to say about his history, the situation presented him with a dilemma. This was no ordinary man. His actions had brought death to a generation and blighted those that followed. Worse could follow if he was returned to the Federation.

“Well, twenty-five years is a long time,” said Blake thoughtfully.

“Not long enough,” said Avon at his side. 

“But he’s an old man,” said Vila. “What’s he going to tell the Federation?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“I’ve tried that,” said Gan. “He asked me if I was one of his children and when I said no, he wouldn’t talk to me any more.”

“Why don’t I try?” said Vila brightly. “People always told me I have a way with the elderly.”

“No,” said Avon. “They told you to _stay away_ from them. There is a difference.”

Vila gave him an annoyed glance. “Very funny.” He sat down next to Arcturus and smiled encouragingly. “You comfortable, are you?” he said to him. “Do you want a biscuit?”

“The foremost geneticist of his generation and Vila asks him if he wants a biscuit,” said Avon. “He’s old, Vila, not stupid.”

“He might be hungry,” he said defensively. “Look at him. He looks like a decent dinner would do him the world of good.”

Blake had been letting the conversation continue without him. As it happened, the suggestion of talking to Arcturus was a good one, more than anything constructive he had to offer at the present. He stood and watched as the old man’s watery eyes came to rest on Vila and a look of hopeful expectation settled on his worn features.

“Are you my child?” he asked, his voice almost pleading.

“Yes,” said Vila, nodding. What he lacked in sincerity was more than compensated by his enthusiasm for the role. “Are you my father?”

“I knew you would come.” Tears began to spill down his cheeks. “Let me gaze upon you, for you are beautiful.”

Vila beamed with smug satisfaction. “Thank you very much.”

“I made my children beautiful.” He reached up to stroke Vila’s hair, like a child with a treasured pet. “So that they might recognise their own. And you, my child, what are you?”

“I’m a thief,” said Vila with a certain amount of pride. “Strictly part-time these days, when I’m not helping rebels, you understand.”

Arcturus’ face fell. “My children were not criminals. They were condemned, but their hearts were pure.” With the spell broken, he glanced about him, his agitation growing. “Where are they, my children? I have waited so long.”

Vila slunk back to Blake. “I tried my best.”

“Are you...” Arcturus began, his hands extended towards him. “Are you my child?”

It took Blake a moment to realise that the entreaty was not meant for him. Arcturus’ eyes were not fixed on him, but a point over his shoulder. He turned to find Avon standing there, steadily ignoring the old man’s plea.

“Well?”

“Well what?” said Avon dismissively.

“Talk to him, see what you can get from him.”

“Yes, go on, Avon,” said Vila. “He seems to have taken a liking to you. Can’t think why. He must be desperate.”

The sigh of resignation Avon let out spoke of his depth of displeasure at having the task forced on him.

“Gently,” said Blake as he pushed past.

“He is responsible for the slaughter of hundreds,” said Avon. “He deceived, he lied, and you tell me to be gentle. Were the tables turned, do you think he would be ‘gentle’ with us?”

“Probably not. But he is confused. You might get more out of him with a subtle approach.”

“Don’t go giving him a good shaking like you usually do with people,” added Vila. “He could fall to pieces at any moment.”

Avon was still scowling as he took his seat. Arcturus’ face was animated with delight and for the first time a spot of colour had come to his cheeks. 

“Who are the children you created, old man?” Avon demanded. “Their names!”

“Oh, yes, very subtle,” Vila muttered.

“Are you my child?” Arcturus repeated plaintively.

Avon hesitated. Vila made an impatient gesture for him to get on with it.

“Yes,” he replied between gritted teeth.

The old man let out a cry of joy. “That I have lived to gaze upon you in your beauty.” He tried to reach out to touch him, but Avon drew back. “My children are beautiful. I made them so.”

“Who are they?”

Arcturus was too lost in his own memories to hear him. “That they might know each other, that they might one day unite to rule the Twelve Sectors, to build an empire that would make the Federation pale into insignificance. On that day, they would come for me, for I am their father.” He fell to murmuring to himself under his breath. Slowly, sadly, he shook his head. “They destroyed my children, my precious first-borns,” he said. “But I fooled them. I gave my life that the next might live. All those days, waiting, that I might once before I die behold my children and see their promise fulfilled.” 

He trailed into silence, his tone wistful. His gaze came back to Avon, and he stretched out his quivering hand to him, his fingers closing as though he sought to contain the very essence of him within his palm.

“They came to me, so many,” he uttered. “I remember them all, so many faces, but the names... the names escape me! I remember... I remember a man, dying, and the child I created from his broken body, so that his memory would endure. I told him his child would attain glory in his name.” He screwed up his face in an effort of remembrance. “Help me,” he begged. “Help me to remember! Tell me his name.”

“That’s enough.” Avon got up abruptly. Arcturus’ eyes never left him, but continued to gaze upon him in wondering awe. “The old fool has lost his mind,” he said sharply to Blake. “He doesn’t know who he is or what he is. The Federation will change that. They will drag the information from him, one way or another. You cannot give him back to them.”

“You’ve changed your mind,” said Vila.

“Listen to him. He’s addled, rambling. If he says the wrong thing, if he confuses one name with another, he will damn us all.”

“Eh?”

“He means,” said Blake heavily, “if Arcturus says, for example, Servalan is one of his ‘Children’, it could go two ways. Either she will be removed—”

“That’s not a bad thing,” said Vila.

“Or given more power, depending on why the Federation want the information about his Children, either to use them or destroy them. Whatever Arcturus tells them has implications, not only for us.”

“Made worse by the fact that he no longer knows himself,” said Avon. “He is too dangerous to be released. Eliminate him now and be done with it.”

“Avon,” said Gan, shaking his head. “He’s an old man.”

“Who has lived too long already.”

Blake studied him, taking his time. “What about Jenna?”

“She made her choice,” Avon stated. “Avalon was right.”

“ _If_ Arcturus was telling her the truth about the people she claims he identified. Let me try something.” He took a seat beside Arcturus. “Do you know me?” he asked.

Recognition flared in the pale eyes. “My child!” He grabbed Blake’s hand and pulled him close to touch his fingers to his cheek. “They were all beautiful. I chose the parents with the darkest hair, the darkest eyes. Tell me your name, my child.”

Blake extracted himself from the bony grasp and returned to the others. “Cally said that Arcturus didn’t recognise me when Avalon showed him my picture before. Now he does. He’s reaching out to anyone, whether they are actually his ‘Children’ or not.”

“Poor old devil,” said Vila.

“Save your sympathy for the ones he will condemn,” said Avon. “If you must give him back, Blake, let it be his corpse.”

“That’s murder,” Gan spoke up. “We’ll be making ourselves his judge and executioner.”

“Could you do it?” said Cally. 

She had been monitoring the communications, interrupting the conversation occasionally to tell them that Avalon was trying to contact the _Liberator_ yet again. Blake knew her reasons, but had been telling Cally to block the incoming messages.

“Could you kill him?” she asked.

Blake drew a deep breath. “Avalon was prepared to do it. We assumed that responsibility when we took him, Cally.”

“No, Blake,” said Gan, more forcefully this time. “Let the courts decide what to do with him, if not on Earth, then one of the Outer Worlds.”

“He will never stand trial,” said Avon. “There are too many vested interests in silencing him.”

“He’s right,” said Blake.

Avon glanced at him. “I know.”

“Perhaps that’s the point.” He leaned on the back of the couch and stared down at Arcturus. The old man was hugging himself, sitting gently rocking back and forth whilst keeping a constant murmured mantra. “What if we threatened to make it public knowledge what Arcturus has done? The scandal would rock the Federation to its foundations. That would work in our favour.”

“Would it?” Avon took a seat opposite Arcturus and ignored the pleading eyes that turned to him. “There would be panic through the federated worlds. Anyone born at those clinics would be under suspicion. It would be a convenient way for the Federation to remove their enemies. Doctor their files to make it look they have a connection to the clinics and let genocide do the rest.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” said Vila with concern, “According to you, they falsified _our_ files. Can’t we tell people it’s not true?”

“If there is one certainty in life, Vila, it is that the truth is irrelevant. It does not matter what you _have_ done, but what the Federation can make people _believe_ you have done.”

“I don’t believe that,” said Gan. “The truth always matters.”

“Did it help you?” Avon regarded him with scorn. “If Blake makes Arcturus’ work public, all the Federation have to do is denounce him as one of the Children. Everything he has done will be subject to scrutiny.” Avon rose and came to stand in front of Blake to emphasise his point. “You will be discredited. A revolutionary with the ethics of a psychopath tends not to gain sympathy. If the Federation falls, it will take you with it. And you will not be around to have a say in what takes it place.”

Blake regarded him steadily. “Then what do you suggest?”

“Let her go.”

“Not without trying.”

Avon’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “It’s been nine days.”

“She’s not dead yet.” He turned away from him. “You could be wrong, Avon, have you considered that?”

“Not recently,” he replied.

Blake smiled to himself. Modesty was not one of Avon’s virtues. 

“What if this whole thing has been planned by the Children from the start?” he said, seeing the puzzled looks Gan and Vila were giving him. “Assuming everything that has happened has been planned, who has the clearance to change our files? Who could bring enough pressure on a neutral planet like Vanguard to falsify our DNA results? That has to come from the highest echelons. What if the President is a Child of Arcturus himself?”

“According to Avalon, the older Children are dead,” said Cally. “The oldest of the next generation would be in their mid-thirties by now.”

“And the President and High Council are older than that,” said Vila with a shrug. “So I’ve heard.”

“All right!” said Blake. The frustration was getting to him. Meeting with counter-arguments at every turn was not helping. “Then their own children. What if they want to protect them because they know what they are?”

“Another good reason for pushing Arcturus out of the nearest airlock,” said Avon.

Vila gave him a sideways glance. “I bet you’d do it too.”

“Yes, I would.” Avon moved around him to face Blake. “Stop wasting time. You know what you have to do. Even if you make the exchange, whoever has planned this has too much to lose by letting us live. Get rid of him and let’s get out of here.”

Blake considered. Avon was trying to read his expression and he was keeping him guessing. 

“I’m not leaving without Jenna,” he said with decision. “You’ve convinced me, Avon. By holding Arcturus, we have the upper hand. They have no way of knowing how much he has told us. I can use that against them. Cally,” he called up to her, “get me a direct link to Servalan at Space Command.”

“Another worthwhile discussion,” said Avon, folding his arms.

“Yes, what _are_ you planning, Blake?” Gan asked.

“I’m going to renegotiate the terms.” He nodded when Cally indicated the link had been made. “Servalan,” he said into the communicator. “We have have Arcturus.”

“You _did_ do well,” came her even reply.

“We did better than that. We know what he is and what he has done.”

“As you were meant to,” she said. “We went to a great deal of trouble to get you to find him for us.”

“And we could make more trouble for you by making public what we know.”

“Ah.” She almost sounded disappointed. Almost, Blake thought, as if she had been expecting something like this. “Do not make this more complicated than it needs to be. This is a straightforward trade, Blake, Arcturus for your friend.”

“I think we can improve on that. Jenna, in exchange for our silence, and we put Arcturus back where we found him.”

“Well, it’s a pity,” said Servalan. “But as you wish. I shall have a camera installed in your friend’s cell, so you can say goodbye. And I will leave the link active, so you can watch her die, slowly, minute by agonising minute. I'm told the end is not pleasant.”

“No, wait,” said Blake.

“Don’t do it,” Avon hissed.

He ignored him. “You can have Arcturus.”

“Sensible.” From the tone of her voice, Blake could envisage the smile of triumph on her face. “Bring him to the planet Cenagone. I will provide you with the co-ordinates when you are in orbit. Oh, and come unarmed. If you bring a weapon, your friend will die.”

“As long as we both agree to that.”

“Naturally. I have no interest in killing you, Blake, not this time. You may bring one of your companions along if you wish. That outspoken one with you should be acceptable.”

“Oh, well done, Avon,” Vila muttered to him. “Glad it’s not me.”

“I’ll be waiting,” said Servalan. “Don’t take too long to get there. I understand your friend is already greatly suffering.”

The link was terminated. In the end, the decision had been taken out of his hands. Now he had to answer for it.

“Congratulations,” said Avon archly. “Should we shoot ourselves now or wait for the Federation to do it for us?”

“It won’t come to that,” Blake retorted, stepping down from the console. “We’ll take Arcturus to Centagone, we’ll get Jenna and then I’ll kill him.”

“And you expect the Federation to stand by and let you do it?” said Gan.

“No,” he replied heavily. “No, I don’t.”

“It’s suicide,” said Avon.

“It’s my problem.”

“Not if I’m standing beside you.”

Blake paused at his side and held his gaze. “Then best you learn move quickly, Avon. Zen,” he called out, looking away. “Set a course for Cenagone, speed Standard by Twelve. Let’s get this over with.”


	10. Chapter Ten

With the _Liberator_ in stationary orbit around Cenagone, Blake had changed into light linens and was waiting for Avon to join him in the teleport bay. A planet located uncomfortably close to its sun, Cenagone was a scorched and barren world, its surface scarred by sand storms, some hundreds of miles across, which could be seen stirring the atmosphere from space.

“We are sure this is the only way?” Cally was saying. She had insisted on taking teleport duty, much to Vila’s delight, which he had made no effort to conceal. 

“I don’t like it any more than you do,” Blake said. “If there was another option, believe me, I would take it. Anything on the detectors?”

“Nothing,” Vila confirmed. “It looks like she’s down there alone.”

“I doubt it. Stay alert. If there’s any trouble, you bring up Jenna, Avon and me in that order. If you can’t, then get out of here. Understand?”

“I know,” said Cally. “Be careful down there.”

“Thank you, Cally, I will,” said Avon as he came down the steps. 

“Both of you,” she said, offering Blake a smile.

“Ready?” said Blake.

“Not particularly.” Avon had chosen the lightest fabrics he could find, and in keeping with Servalan’s instructions had gone without a belt. “Have you seen the temperature down there? Calculated, of course, so she can see if we are carrying weapons. The only surprise is that she didn’t insist we come naked.”

“It’s a good thing she didn’t. I would have had no place to hide this.”

He held up the small gun taken from Travis on Centero. Avon watched with a critical expression as he pushed into his sleeve, trapping the muzzle under the strap of his chronometer.

“We’re relying on that?”

“I am,” said Blake. “It should be enough to do what needs to be done.”

“If you don’t, I will. Where is Arcturus?”

“Here.”

Blake looked over Avon’s shoulder to where Gan was helping the elderly scientist down the steps. Arcturus clung to his arm, his eager eyes scanning the gathered faces in the hope of glimpsing a remembered face. Gan stopped at the bottom of the stairs and did not relinquish his hold on Arcturus’ hand. 

“I’m not happy about this,” he said. “Whatever Arcturus has done, killing him is wrong.”

“Letting him live is worse,” said Avon. “We’ve been over this. Let’s get on with it.”

He took a teleport bracelet and snapped it shut around Arcturus’ right wrist. The old man smiled up at him and eagerly latched on to his arm. Avon looked on with ill-disguised disgust.

“Look at him,” said Vila. “He thinks he’s going for a day out. You’d think he was a nice old man, if you didn’t know he wasn’t a nice old man.”

“He’s lived longer than most of his creations,” said Avon. “Well, Blake. Are we going?”

He nodded. “Yes, I suppose so. Cally, you’ve got the co-ordinates?”

“We received them from Servalan’s ship an hour ago.”

“Very well.” Blake positioned himself in the teleport bay and waited for Avon and Arcturus to join him. “Put us down.”

The teleport room disappeared to be replaced with the bright glow of sunlight glinting on white sand. The open arms of a dune wrapped around them, enclosing them in a wide hollow in which sat a ship. Waiting for them was a single figure, a woman clad in a long-sleeved, white dress, with a spray of sparkling gems flowing from her shoulders down to encircle her waist. She appeared oblivious to the blistering heat, the wide-brimmed hat she wore being her only concession to the glare of reflected light. Incongruous perhaps, but in keeping with her position as Supreme Commander of the Terran Federation.

“Blake,” she said. Her gaze swept over Avon and the old man. “And this must be Arcturus.”

He started forward, but Avon kept a hold on his hand. “My children are beautiful,” he said earnestly. “I made them so that they would recognise their own.”

“Where’s Jenna?” Blake demanded.

“In a cavern several metres below the surface of this planet. My pilot has provided your ship with the co-ordinates of her location. _He_ can get her,” Servalan said, gesturing to Avon. “We will stay here.”

“Why don’t I stay here and let one of the others get her?” said Avon.

“Because I’m the one holding the weapon.” From her long draped sleeve, she had produced a small gun that neatly fitted in the palm of her hand. She aimed it at Blake’s chest. “Now go.”

“A persuasive argument,” said Avon, activating his communicator. “Cally, you have the co-ordinates? No, just me. Blake is...” He glanced at him and back to the gun in Servalan’s hand. “Staying, for the time being.”

“Make contact as soon as you find Jenna,” said Blake.

Avon nodded. White light froze around him and he vanished.

“He will find two armed mutoids when he arrives,” said Servalan. “When he contacts you, tell him to wait. They will not fire unless provoked.”

Blake’s bracelet chimed. “I’m here,” said Avon. “And I’m not alone.”

“Do nothing,” Blake replied. “Is Jenna there?”

“Yes. She looks all right. Better than we do, at any rate. What’s the plan now?”

“Just wait. I have a feeling Servalan wants to talk.”

“That should be mildly amusing,” said Avon. “Don’t take too long. It’s stifling in here.”

When Blake lowered his arm, Servalan was smiling, almost serenely. “I may have exaggerated your friend’s condition. They were feeding her, prison rations, I’m afraid, but still, better than nothing. And now I have what I wanted, I’m returning her to you.”

“You wanted Arcturus.”

“Yes. And you brought him.”

“What else?”

“I want you to drop your weapon. It’s there, in your sleeve.”

Grudgingly, Blake pulled out the gun and let it fall.

“Better,” she said. “I’m not going to kill you, Blake. The only reason you and your friends will walk away from this place today is because I need someone to take the blame.”

“For what?”

“For killing Arcturus.”

Her aim shifted suddenly from Blake to the old man. She fired without hesitation. Arcturus crumpled and fell, dead before he hit the floor. Blake stared at him, his face blank with disbelief at what he had just witnessed.

“The official inquiry will find that you, Blake, killed him before the exchange was complete. I was fortunate to escape with my life.” She lowered her weapon, apparently unconcerned by the corpse that lay between them. “There are five pursuit ships in close orbit around Cenagone out of the _Liberator’s_ detector range. Enough to look convincing if you choose to put up a fight, but you should be able to outrun them.”

“You appear to have thought of everything, Servalan.”

“Everything except you,” she replied. “Threatening to blackmail the Federation is not advisable. At least, not with the threat to expose the Children of Arcturus. Now that the person responsible is dead, where is your evidence?”

“Arcturus has already identified several of them,” Blake lied, knowing he would never be able to rely on his testimony.

Servalan shook her head. “The delusions of an elderly man. Oh, we know about the people he claims were his ‘Children’, the same way we knew Avalon was holding him.”

“You have a spy in her camp.”

“Naturally, as I’m sure she has one in mine. Getting him, though, that was the problem, since the Federation wanted him alive. You answered that question. We gave you an incentive to be curious. I imagine the prospect of you being related provoked some interesting discussions.”

Blake’s mind wandered back to Avon’s vehemence and Vila’s light-hearted stance on the matter. Interesting had been one word for it.

“You are not, by the way,” Servalan continued. “A vector-borne disease was left on a lock for your friend to contract, and the Vanguardians did the rest. For your future reference, they are not as neutral as they like to appear. The threat of invasion ‘persuaded’ them to falsify your DNA results. As for your files, well, changing them was easy.”

“Easy when you have access to Central Records.”

“Full clearance is one of the privileges of my position,” she conceded. “And what you can learn is always useful. Do you know, when I had the technicians alter your files, they found something fascinating. One in five of Earth’s population were conceived at those clinics, more if you include those who emigrated to other planets. Yet not a single member of the _Liberator_. What are the chances of that, I wonder? Or is one of them not what they seem?”

“Who is?” Blake countered. “I thought you said the Federation wanted Arcturus alive.”

“They did,” said Servalan. “They wanted to learn the names of his Children. But who would that benefit after all this time? That information would be incendiary. Arcturus went to a great deal of effort to conceal their identities. I have helped him complete that task.” She indicated the fallen man. “As he was paid to do.”

“What?” said Blake. “According to him, his exile was voluntary.”

“Ah,” she said, with a practised air of superiority, “I see you don’t know. Then let me explain. After the purges that removed the earlier generations, Arcturus’ methods were still sought by parents who wanted their children to achieve more than they ever had.”

“I don’t believe you. Why would anyone do that?”

“Consider it an investment in their futures. In much the same way as one selects the finest educators and the better areas of the domes in which to live. They wanted nothing but the best for their offspring. Arcturus offered that. Intelligence, ambition, ruthlessness - whatever they wanted could be bought, for a price.”

“And insanity, according to the record.”

“Records are written by those in control of them," Servalan said smoothly. "The taint of insanity was a convenient means by which to justify the removal of the Children of Arcturus. By all accounts, they were as sane as you or me. They were simply acting exactly as they had been programmed. Like most things, however, sanity is relative, depending on which side of the argument you are. And many were on their side. Arcturus promised much, and with enough money, it was a promise which could be delivered.”

She stared down at the corpse at her feet.

“Part of that promise was complete protection. You will never find them because there is no record of them. None of the Children of Arcturus born after the purge ever had their nature of their conception documented on their Security files. Conversely, the only people you can be sure are not the Children are the ones listed as being conceived at the clinics.”

“Very cunning.”

“Very necessary,” said Servalan, “to allow them to live their lives undetected and to fulfil their potential.”

“Not entirely,” said Blake. “According to Arcturus, they are able to recognise each other. Dark hair, dark eyes.”

She smiled knowingly at him, holding his gaze for the longest time. “Some share physical similarities, it is true. ‘I made my children beautiful’, isn’t that what he said? In Arcturus’ case, it was the beauty of the mind that appealed to him most of all. If they do recognise each other, it is in the call of the intellect. Genius will always prove irresistible to genius. Unfortunately, attraction and destruction are closely allied. The Children will brook no competition. They will eliminate any obstacle in their quest to attain what is most important to them.”

“As you have eliminated Arcturus?”

Servalan gave a light, disinterested shrug. “There is nothing to be gained by their exposure. That is what Avalon believed, that is what you believed, Blake. Why else would you have brought that gun? You were planning on killing him at the expense of your own life.” She raised her weapon again. “And now I am letting you go. This ends here, today. I know I can rely on your discretion.”

“It appears I have no choice.”

“Oh, we always have a choice. Knowing which is the right one, that is the challenge. Now, call your friend. Tell him the word is ‘Liberation’. It has a nice ring about it, don’t you think?”

Blake carefully raised his wrist, watchful of the weapon in Servalan’s hand, and activated the communicator. “Avon, say the word ‘Liberation’ and the mutoids will let you pass. Get Jenna out of there.”

“Will you be joining us?” came his response.

Servalan nodded.

“It appears so,” he said. “Let me know when you are back on the _Liberator_.”

“Goodbye, Blake,” said Servalan, backing away from him. “I doubt we shall meet again.”

His bracelet chimed. “We have Avon and Jenna,” said Cally. “Bringing you up.”

A moment later, he was back on the ship, the only evidence that he had ever been on Cenagone a light dusting of fine sand that fell from his clothes as he walked out of the teleport bay. Jenna was waiting for him, looking flushed from the heat but none the worse for her experience.

“Cally, tell Gan to get us moving,” said Blake. “There’s five pursuit ships on the blind side of the planet.” He turned his attention to Jenna. “Good to have you back. Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said dismissively. “Blake, I might have told Travis about us being related.” She checked herself with a shake of her head. “In fact, I _know_ I did.”

He laid his hand reassuringly on her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t true anyway.”

“Servalan told you that?” said Avon. “What happened down there?”

Blake glanced at him. “I’ll tell you later. For now, let’s get out of here.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

He was waiting for her when she returned to her office. Arrogant as ever, he had made himself at home in her absence. Sitting in her chair, dirty feet up on her desk, he made no attempt to get up when she entered. 

Travis. He was meant to be on Massillion, conducting a troop review, as far away from Blake and the _Liberator_ as possible. And yet, here he was, casually downing one of the finest vintages Earth had to offer as though it was nothing more than the cheap dregs usually served up to the masses. She had had other men killed for less. But Travis, well, he was different. A special case. She was inclined to be indulgent.

Even so, she had limits. This latest outrage suggested a new-found confidence. He knew something, she decided. Or _thought_ he knew something, which was not quite the same thing. The former made him dangerous, the latter... well, that made him a fool.

For now, she decided to let it play out. Let him show his hand and see what he had to offer.

She stopped on the other side of the desk, remaining standing, while Travis regarded her with an insolent eye.

“Welcome back, Space Commander,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you to return from Massillion so soon.”

A low grunt escaped him. “That’s because I didn’t go.”

“Didn’t go?” She inclined her head in a gesture of displeasure. “That sounds like insubordination.”

“And this sounds like treason.” He tapped the data pad on the desk before him as he eased his legs from the table and sat up. “So, Blake escaped after killing the old man. I trust your injuries weren’t too severe.”

Servalan glanced down at her bandaged left hand. A self-inflicted injury, to give credence to her story. After treatment, there would not be a scar.

“Nothing that will inconvenience me.”

“Naturally.” He held her gaze. “No point shooting yourself in the foot if you need to walk.”

“What is it you want, Travis?” she said with practised impatience.

He took his time in replying. “A renegotiation of the terms of our relationship. A fairer balance, I think.”

“And why should I agree to that?”

A data cube was tossed across the desk to her. Travis sat back in the chair, enjoying his moment of triumph. She picked it up, held it between finger and thumb and looked back at him with idle curiosity. 

“What is this supposed to be?”

“A recording,” he replied. “Of your conversation with Blake on Cenagone. Everything, Servalan. Every last detail of your twisted plot to conceal your identity.”

“I see.” She lowered herself into the nearest chair and regarded him across the white expanse of desk. “You have been busy.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“I knew you were planning something when I received the orders to go to Massillion,” he said. “I ‘acquired’ a recording device from Central Intelligence and installed it on your ship.” He smiled brashly. “Now, what do you think the High Council would say if I were to take this to them?”

“That would be inadvisable.” She sat back in her seat and crossed her legs, unconcerned. For the first time, she saw a flicker of uncertainty in the half-crease that formed between what was left of his brows. “A full enquiry would be needed and that might be inconvenient for a number of people. You see, Travis, you’re wrong. I didn’t do it for myself. I did it for you.”

It caught him off-guard. “What?”

“Dark hair, dark eyes?” She smiled at him serenely. “That unfortunate eye patch you insist on retaining threw me when I first met you. But underneath, Travis, we are beautiful, as Arcturus always intended.”

He got up abruptly. “What you are saying?”

She let her gaze travel skywards as she recalled the old man’s words. “’I made them so that they would recognise their own,’ that is what he said, after all.”

“No.” Travis’ voice had the faintest tremor. Just enough, thought Servalan, to know she had the upper hand again. “There’s nothing in my security file about the clinic.”

“Quite so,” said Servalan. “That is our protection. That, and one another.”

“Impossible!”

She made a dismissive gesture. “You come from good, if uninspiring, stock. And yet here you are, a Space Commander. I imagine they thought the investment was worth it. You haven’t disappointed.”

The lines contracted around his eye. “You’re lying.”

“Do you really think so?” A light laugh escaped her as she rose and rounded the table towards him. “It’s not so bad, once you get used to the idea. Think of it as Nature perfected. It has its compensations, too. Once the others know you are on our side, the enquiry into your actions on Auros will find in your favour. You will be exonerated.” Patting him reassuringly on the chest, she lightly, but firmly, pushed him out of the way and retook her customary chair. “You were, after all, only following your natural instincts, as Arcturus intended. Who could blame you for that?”

He opened his mouth, nothing coming out. She had seen the same reaction in others when she had told them a similar story. Familiar though it was, it was never anything but thoroughly satisfying.

“Now, if I were you, Travis, I would destroy that recording and forget you ever heard the name Arcturus. The man is dead and that is an end of it.” 

It was her invitation to leave. Travis made it as far as door before hesitating and retracing his steps. He reached for the data cube, but Servalan was quicker, taking it up and enfolding her fingers around it to contain it in her fist.

“On the other hand, I think I’m going to keep this copy,” she said. “In case you ever forget yourself, Travis, and think you can try to threaten me again.”

“Threaten, Supreme Commander?” he said bitterly. “I thought we had an understanding.”

“Oh, we do. You get me the _Liberator_ and Blake is yours. Does that sound reasonable?”

He stiffened. “More than reasonable.”

She nodded. “Good. Then shouldn’t be out there trying to find him?”

He turned to go. For a long time after the door had closed behind him, she remained staring at the place where he had been before her gaze fell upon the data cube in her hand. Travis had done well, better than she had expected. To come so far, only to allow himself to be deceived – well, everyone had vulnerabilities, it was a simple matter of finding out what they were.

In Travis’ case, it had been in believing he could ever beat her. He almost had, but almost was never enough. When she had received the report that the prisoner he had handed in was confused and disorientated, she had had them run tests. Once they found traces of Tervivium 5 in Jenna Stannis’ system, Servalan had known and had been prepared. Travis, with his suspicions and recordings, had never been a credible threat. He needed handling, no more, like all these people who _thought_ they were special. 

Because that was the myth of Arcturus. There were no Children. He had taken their money and promised their parents much, but the real scandal, the one she had had tortured out of one his assistants on the first day she had come to power, was that he had lied and maintained that lie right up to his death. After the first generations had been eliminated, he had lost faith in his abilities. He had tinkered, making minor modifications, but his mantra had been no more harm.

It had been a revelation. In her own circles when she growing up, parents with enough money and influence had openly boasted of the potential of their offspring, given intelligence beyond compare. She had had to listen to these insufferable brats, telling her how they were special and destined for power, for no better reason than what they were. There was a particular scorn for those children whose parents had not paid for Arcturus’ services. ‘Ruts’, they were called, after the nature of their conception.

Children, like herself. To protect her, for years the family had told her she too was special and her contemporaries had accepted it. Perhaps her parents had chosen to believe she was, seeing as she was a child of their later years. It had come as a shock to learn that she was just another of the ruts. She had told no one and had maintained the lie. While the Children of Arcturus had grown dull and lazy, expecting success to drop into their laps without any effort, she had ploughed resentment into ambition, meeting everyone’s expectations of her alleged birthright.

Then she learned that Arcturus was alive and in the hands of the rebels. It had changed everything.

If the Children ever found out she was not one of them, they almost certainly destory her. Finding Arcturus had been a priority for all parties - the ruts had wanted revenge, the Children had wanted protection, but she had wanted to survive, a guarantee that only came with continued uncertainty. Killing him had been a necessity. Implicating Blake had been a bonus. With Arcturus dead, he could never decry her as a fraud, even as addled as he was. And with the questions never to be answered, it was easy to tell deluded fools like Travis that they were one of his Children too when they were not. It bought their loyalty, one way or another.

She smiled to herself as she considered the data cube again. What it contained was incendiary. If the Children ever plotted her downfall, she would not go alone. It would be all or none. The knowledge she had this would keep them under her control for as long as they existed. Travis and his meddling had been useful, after all.

There again, if it were to fall into the hands of her enemies, no one of would be safe, her least of all.

With that in mind, she rose, let the cube fall and crushed it beneath her heel until nothing but the finest dust remained. 

Another problem solved, she thought to herself. If only it were as easy to eliminate Blake. Well, Travis would see to that, and if not, then the discord she had sown amongst his crew might work as well. Target a vulnerability and let events take their natural course. It had been successful before and sent them scurrying after Arcturus, just as she had planned. Would it work again? Time would tell, if they were curious enough to discover it for themselves.

Because if there was one truth she had learned at an early age, it did not matter what you actually were, but what you could make people _believe_ you were.

And that had been Arcturus’ greatest gift.


	12. Chapter Twelve

“Perm?!” Vila was saying as Blake entered the flight deck. “How can I have a father called Perm? With hair like mine?”

It had been many months since the death of Arcturus. In the aftermath, Blake had confided to the others what had happened, but had not sought to correct the rumours or the official line taken by the Federation. Too many vested interests, as Avon had said, too many lives at stake to start dredging up the past. Arcturus was dead and his secrets had gone with him to the grave. Perhaps it was for the best, Blake had told himself. There were some things it was better not to know. 

One positive outcome had been the tacit truce it had rekindled with Avalon. It had helped that he had informed her of the spy in her midst. And if he detected a new reticence to their discussions, she did at least understand, if not forgive, his actions. She had been satisfied too the people identified presented no threat and had left it at that. Blake did not tell her those names were most likely an invention of the old man’s addled mind, given his random selection of members of the _Liberator_ , himself included.

If he was content to let it lie, he suspected others might not. It had taken the arrival of Orac to dispel any final doubts. Then it had been a matter of searching Central Records’ auxiliary data banks for cached files. The originals had been carefully buried, inaccessible to all but those with the highest levels of security clearance. Under different conditions, those files would have stayed hidden, the truth lost to the false records produced by expert technicians.

Simple, according to Orac, but then most things were in Orac’s world. The computer dealt in facts, such as they were, blithely indifferent to the consequences.

Like now, with Vila less than happy about discovering the identify of his father. Blake had decided not to join in the game. When he had been alone, he had taken the time to satisfy his own curiosity and his instincts had been proved correct. That was enough.

If Vila was content to share, then that was his decision.

“I’m not sure it works like that,” Cally said to him. “Why would someone’s name determine whether their hair was curly or straight?”

Vila shrugged. “Why would anyone be called Perm in the first place? They used to do that, you know, in the Old Calendar, name you after what you did or what you looked like.” He mused aloud as he gazed up at the ceiling. “I wonder what I would have been called. ‘Son of Perm’. Permson – does it suit me?”

“No,” said Jenna, giving him a passing smile. “Restal does though.”

Vila’s eyes creased in confusion.

“’Rest all’?” said Gan in good humour. “Someone did know you well.”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” said Vila. “I do my fair share.” He glanced around at the others. “Does no one else want to know? Am I the only one curious about whether we were related or not?”

“Apparently so,” said Blake. “We established it was a Federation plot a long time ago.”

Vila looked unhappy. “Well, I believed it.”

“So did I,” said Gan. “Especially after they told us we were a match on Vanguard.”

“You saved my life,” said Vila appreciatively. Blake decided not to remind that the disease was manufactured and the gene results forged. “Just think, that could have been the end of me, and all because the Federation wanted to find one man. It makes you think.”

“That would be a novelty,” said Jenna.

“I do a lot of thinking,” said Vila indignantly. “I just don’t talk about the things I think about. Like us being related. I’m glad we’re not. I like being unique. That’s what I want put on my memorial - ‘Vila Restal, we shall not see his like again’.”

“That should reassure everyone,” said Blake with a short laugh.

“You’ve been taking lessons from Avon,” said Vila. He looked over his shoulder as if realising for the first time that someone was missing. “Where is he, by the way?”

“He said something about preventing outside interference in the _Liberator’s_ systems,” said Cally.

This was the first Blake had heard of it. If it was something pressing, he was surprised Avon had not mentioned it to him. 

“I’ll see if he needs help,” he said.

“He said not,” Cally replied.

He took her meaning. If her offer had been refused, it was the company Avon had rejected rather than the proposed assistance.

“He might have changed his mind. Can you manage?” he said, pausing at Jenna’s station.

She had been running full status checks on the auxiliary computers. A fault had appeared on the detectors which had taken longer than usual for the auto-repair systems to correct. With the encounter with System still fresh in everyone’s mind, any anomalies in the ship’s smooth functioning were being thoroughly investigated.

A quick glance at the readout told him he need not have asked. All was well in hand.

“Vila or the _Liberator_?” she asked.

He grinned back at her. “Both, if necessary.”

“The ship is easier to handle.”

“Yes, well, don’t let him go too far.”

“Like asking whether Arcturus was really my father?” She met his gaze. “It’s all right, I checked. He wasn’t. I still don’t know. There’s nothing in the record.”

“I never thought he was. Everything was false, Jenna.”

“Not entirely.” The readouts stopped scrolling on the screen and she deactivated them. “Only the addition of his name. Everything else was true.”

Blake squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said. “I never knew my mother. It’s only recently, since Zen dragged her image from my mind, that I know what she looks like. I suppose I must have seen it happen. Well,” she said, almost too lightly, “it was a long time ago.”

“Had the circumstances been different,” said Blake, “we would have never looked.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” She was dismissive. “What does it matter now?” She meant it, Blake thought, and he was glad. He would have regretted driving a wedge between them for the rest of his days. “Avon might, though,” she went on. “I walked in on him interrogating Orac a couple of days ago. I didn’t ask.”

“And he didn’t say.”

Jenna breathed a laugh. “You know him so well.”

“I’d better find him.”

“Sub-control room two.”

Blake found him where Jenna had said, behind a locked door, with no intention of opening it for anyone. It took several minutes of persuasion and the threat of an override before Avon grudging deactivated the lock. Blake stepped inside and surveyed the scene. A scattering of tools, several open panels and Avon, dressed in silver and black and making no attempt to conceal his annoyance at the intrusion.

“What’s this I hear about outside interference?” Blake asked. 

Avon turned his back on him. “Orac was able to control the sister ship of the _Liberator_ in order to destroy it. I am isolating the primaries to ensure it doesn’t happen to us.”

“From Orac?”

“From anyone.” Avon’s tone suggested that should have been obvious.

“That seems unlikely, unless they have a computer of Orac’s capabilities.”

Avon gave him a sideways look. “It’s only a matter of time.”

That seemed to be an end of the conversation. Avon had everything in hand and, short of telling him to get out, was already ignoring his presence. Blake lingered, glancing at the array of technology that govern the workings of the ship. So many processes, each indicated by a separate light, their reassuring glow confirming that all was functioning normally.

“Was there something else?” Avon asked.

Blake gathered he was irritated by his refusal to leave. “That light isn’t on,” said he, indicating the only dead bulb on the main panel.

“It isn’t supposed to be.”

Another adjustment and the light came back on as another bank went out. 

“We’ll be arriving at Space City within the hour,” Blake said. “Will you be joining us on the flight deck?”

Avon was silent for a moment, his back still towards him. “Is Vila still delving into the records?”

Blake gave a grunt of laughter. “I’m afraid so. I think he preferred it when he thought we were related.”

“He never thought that. None of us did.”

“I know.”

“Did you?” Avon turned to face him. “You said at the time it didn’t feel right.”

Blake nodded slowly. He knew what Avon was asking, but it was hard to put into words. 

“Gut instinct, I suppose. From what I can remember of my parents, they were accepting. Of the Federation, of circumstances, everything. They never questioned, never complained. If they couldn’t have had a third child, they would not have gone to the clinic.”

He caught Avon studying him. What was passing behind his dark eyes was unreadable. It had been no idle enquiry. There was something there, Blake decided. Not a criticism, more an uncertainty. Whatever it was, better that it come from Avon, if he wanted him to know. He had already been warned it was none of his business.

“Well, if there’s nothing I can do to help...”

Blake was almost out of the room before Avon spoke again.

“There is a discrepancy in my record.”

Blake paused. Avon was busy at his work, fiddling with a tangle of wires, not needing to look round to know that he had gained his attention. In turn, Blake waited. Avon eventually obliged.

“There is a gap of ten months between my father’s death and my birth, in case you were wondering.”

Blake shrugged. “I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were,” Avon said, sparing him the briefest of glances. “There is no mention of the clinic. According to what Servalan told you, that would make me one of the Children of Arcturus.”

“Not necessarily,” Blake said carefully. There were other possibilities, ones that needed delicate handling. “Perhaps a different father?”

“No, the DNA profiles match.”

“The date of your father’s death changed?”

Avon laid down his tool. “I had considered that. The records were only accessible to Orac. They could not have known we would come into possession of it.”

“Servalan knows we have it now.”

“And Servalan requested I go down to Cenagone with you.”

“Someone had to,” Blake countered. “To get Jenna.”

“She could have picked anyone. Then there is Arcturus. He recognised me, or someone who looked very much like me. There is a familial resemblance. And the story matches what I was told. My father was injured in an industrial accident and died eighteen days later. We have the same name.” He took a moment. “That is what Arcturus wanted to know, because it had once been familiar to him.”

Blake drew a deep breath. “A lot of people owe their existence to those clinics, Avon. One in five, according to Servalan. It doesn’t mean—”

“My father had the skills of a third-rate technician and a position at the highest level. Nepotism will do that, where ability is lacking.”

Blake was running out of suggestions. “What of your mother? Your half-brother?”

“Both excelled at mediocrity.” Avon slapped down his tool and braced himself on the console. “Face it, Blake, I am the right age, the right physical appearance. The facts point to me being one of the Children.”

He had left out the unaccountable intelligence. Perhaps, Blake thought, he was not giving his parents enough credit. Or being contrary for the sake for it. Either way, he seemed to be decided on the subject. Trying to contradict his arguments was not swaying him.

“Which leaves one question,” said Avon. “What the _hell_ am I doing here?”

Recently, Blake had been asking himself the same thing. Both in the broader sense and in their particular circumstances. He could recall Servalan’s words vividly, questioning whether someone on the crew was not what they appeared to be. Arcturus had created dark-haired, dark-eyed geniuses. The indications were all there. He had arrived at an inevitable conclusion, which he imagined was exactly what Servalan had planned. During the long nights of deliberation, he had added it to one of the many reasons why saying nothing was preferable to exposure. People would suffer. People like Avon.

For that reason, he had hoped Avon would not go looking. It did not matter whether it was true or not. The knowledge had the potential to become self-fulfilling. But since he had, a better question would be what he was going to do about it. Leave? Or find a more creative way out of the problem? Either way, it would be divisive. They would be weakened. Servalan would get her way. It had a mark of genius about it.

Still, two could play at that game. All it needed was the element of doubt.

“Well, when you find an answer to that question, Avon, let the rest of us know,” Blake said.

He turned to go.

“That’s it?” Avon called after him,

Blake stopped. “Can you prove it, one way or another?”

“No.”

“Anyone you can ask?”

“All dead.”

Blake looked back over his shoulder. “When you can bring me proof, Avon, we’ll talk again. Until then, it doesn’t matter. Are you coming?”

He sighed and looked around him at the console with its mass of electrical wiring hanging from it like the disembowelled remains of some great beast. “I have to finish here first.”

“Right. There is one thing though,” said Blake, pausing on the threshold. “If you were one of the Children of Arcturus, shouldn’t you be the number one computer expert in all the Federated worlds?”

Avon accepted this without his usual resentment. “Well, perhaps there is something to be said for mediocrity, after all.”

“One day, we’ll know the truth. For now, we have more important things to worry about.”

“The identification and elimination of threats,” said Avon. “The Federation, naturally.”

“Can you think of a better target?”

“When I do, I’ll let you know.”

“Good. Join us on the flight deck as soon as you can.”

Blake left, smiling to himself. Blood mattered, of course. But sometimes, just sometimes, water could prove stronger. The day was coming when that tide would wash away the Federation forever.

**The End**

* * * * * * *  
_I enjoyed that and I hope you did too. I'm quite sorry it's over. It's the quickest I've written a story, ever. So shall we try for another one?_


End file.
